The Vengeance Affair
by MLaw
Summary: "I am requesting a new partner Napoleon," Illya said coldly,"stay away from me and my wife."  Will the unexpected turn of events destroy a family and a friendship?  Mild het, language, violence, angst and some disturbing images  #17 in the Saga-series AU
1. Chapter 1

"_Revenge is an act of passion, vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged, crimes avenged"~ Samuel Johnson._

**"The Vengeance Is Mine Affair"**

The temperatures soared, becoming so hot that you could literally fry an egg on the sidewalks of New York City, at least that's how the saying went and more than a few mothers were scolding their children for making a mess with eggs on the walk ways in front of their homes.

It has hit a record 103˚ and the parks were overflowing with people seeking a bit of air and respite from the scorching heat. Fire hydrants were gushing water into the steaming streets much to the delight of the children who had forced them open but also to the dismay of the fire department; if there were a fire then the water pressure was dangerously low for the hoses to reach to the floors of the many high-rises that made up the city. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

The power grid was being tested, with periodic brown outs and blackouts dotting all over the tri-state area.

The Kuryakins had finally invested in their first air conditioner, a small unit that served to cool the upstairs of the house installed in the window at the end of the hallway. Illya had closed off the extra rooms, and draped sheets across the top of the landing, preventing the cool air from moving downstairs as it would have overtaxed the machine.

In front of Demya's bedroom door was a small oscillating fan drawing the cool air in as well as one in his parents room. They had succumbed to the necessity of air conditioning as Elliott Kuryakin was nearly six months pregnant with their second child, and it had not been an easy pregnancy so far. She was miserable, experiencing constant back pain and the little one was always moving, keeping mama awake and making her irritable.

She stood in front of the full length mirror in the corner of their bedroom, looking at herself before slipping into her bedclothes. Elliott did not like what she saw, it was not the scars that she'd received in the service of U.N.C.L.E. those she ignored completely; it was the fact that she had put on so much weight, at least to her eyes it seem that way. She didn't recall that happening when she carried Demya nearly four years ago. She was never a vain person but did take pride in keeping herself in top condition.

Illya walked into the room after just having put their son to bed as Elliott took one more glance at herself .

He could see the look on her face and wondered what he was in for now, but took the chance and asked her what was troubling her. Illya wrapped his arms around her, gathering her in his arms; he loved the fact that she was so petite and compact, standing several inches shorter than his slight stature, not putting him at a disadvantage with her.

"I'm fat," she blurted out in disgust.

"What?"

"Ye heard me, I'm fat."

The vanity of the remark took Illya completely by surprise as that was not like his beloved who was possibly the least vain woman he had ever known, this leaving him quite unsure as to what to say. She had put on some weight, but to him she was beautiful.

"Annushka, you are six months pregnant? I suppose you have put on a few pounds, but is that not normal and besides it has made you somewhat voluptuous?" he said squeezing her breasts playfully. " I love you no matter how you look."

Wrong thing to say.

"Ye think I'm fat then do ye?"

"I did not say that."

"You said I put on a few extra pounds."

He swallowed, knowing he had said that in all innocence. "I meant it as a compliment."

"NO ye didn't, ye think I'm fat." she groaned, pulling free of his arms.

"Here we go," he thought. He'd let himself be drawn in to one of her mood swings and now he was beginning to feel annoyed he had let his guard down. Then he made his second mistake, by opening his mouth again.

"Well if you are worried about gaining more weight then you should stop with the late night snacks and ignore your cravings."

"Well if ye'd stop going out and getting that food for me then I wouldn't be snackin' would I?" She spun on her heels, going to the bed and climbing in with great drama and moaning because of her back pain.

The air conditioner at least made sleeping with a cranky pregnant Irish woman who was prone to fits of temper manageable for her husband, more so now than ever.

Not that he was any better, since lllya was notorious for disliking the heat; proving you could take the man out of Russia, but you couldn't take Russian out of the man. His Slavic blood craved the cooler temperatures and would have much preferred there being a blizzard rather than a heat wave, and was quick to point that out as well as the fact that American winters were nothing compared to those in the Soviet Union, passing the comment again.

"Aw Jay-sus Illya will ye give it a feckin' rest about the feckin' Russian winters already?" Elliott groaned at him as they now lounged in bed together. She lay beside him spread-eagle, dressed in soft cotton baby-doll pajamas, while Illya sat in his boxers as he preferred them in the hot weather, leaning a magazine on his bent knees. His glasses were perched on the end of his nose as he buried it into the reading material, absorbing information on the disposal of nuclear waste.

They would have normally readied themselves for bed, sleeping with nothing on; reserving bed clothes generally for the winter months.

Neither of them was shy about nudity, but in this sort of weather it was better to err on the side of caution with their door opened, leaving an invitation to their son to invade their space at any time. The child had seen his fathers scarring numerous times and no longer took notice of it, when it was explained to him how they happened; he took it in stride asking no further questions. But nudity was best kept private with an inquisitive boy like Demya.

Illya offered no response to his wife's last comment, this time reminding himself that what ever he said would probably get his head bitten off. He was trying to sidestep the emotional see-saw that this pregnancy was creating for Elliott, though tonight; he let himself get sucked in inadvertently, but he would not make that mistake again.

He heard the quick padding of little feet in the hallway as their son appeared, peeking his head around the door making sure it was safe to come in. Even he was aware of his mother's 'moods' as of late and at the young and tender age of nearly four; he had the good sense to look before he leaped rather than suffer the wrath of his mama.

His father had explained to him that it was nothing he had done, and that his mother was just not feeling well. That change he had noticed after he had been told him was going to be a big brother and Demya was a precocious enough child to put two and two together.

"Papa can I sleep with you and mama?"

"That's may I Demya"

"Yes papa, may I ?"

Illya cast a glance to his wife, not daring to presume it would be alright, given her unpredictable mood. She nodded her approval without saying a word.

"Da moy syn, but did you use the bathroom?"

'Yes papa."

"Horosho_good. I want no accidents in papa and mama's bed then?"

"No papa I won't wet the bed I promise."

Demya climbed in, positioning himself in between his mother and father, settling into the exact position as his father and propping a Little Golden Book on his knees, his current favorite, _The March of the Wooden Soldiers._

Elliott looked over at her little blond boy, then at her husband; the two of them so much alike that it was uncanny. The only difference was that Demmy did not have his father's sometimes dour disposition and was a very happy boy since his childhood was different from his father's and mercifully free of the sufferings that Illya had experienced.

At that moment the other Kuryakin baby reminded her if it's presence, as it was on the move again and kicking up a storm.

"Here Demmy give me yer hand?" She placed it on her abdomen so he could feel the baby moving."

"Why can't my baby brother come out now? I think he wants to play with me?"

Illya laughed at that one. "Demachka, it is too soon, the baby is not big enough and besides it may not be a baby brother, it could be a baby sister, remember we discussed this already."

"I think it will be a baby brother." the boy smiled then paused as if he were thinking of something." How did my baby brother get inside mama's tummy?'

There it was, the inevitable question that both his parents had been anticipating. They were surprised that it took this long to be asked, and looked at each other deciding who would answer it. Illya smiled, exacting his revenge upon Elliott. "Go ahead mama, tell him."

"Thanks a lot...well Demmy ye see it's like this. Mama had a seed inside her, a baby seed and yer papa watered the seed and it started to grow. It's not a seed anymore, now it's a baby that's growing and when it's big enough then mama let's it out ta be born, just like ye were."

Demya tilted his head, his exact father's quizzical look on his face." Yes I understand. So when will my baby brother be big enough mama?"

"In three months time Demmy."

Demya suddenly asked another very unexpected question. "Can we name him Carmine Cocomera?"

"What?" his parents blurted out at the same time, Illya not taking the time to correct his son's grammar."

"Where did you come up with that name?" he laughed.

Elliott was giggling at this point, "It's his friend's name, they play together in the park."

"Carmine Cocomera?" Illya repeated, shaking his head." So if it is indeed a boy what would mama like to name it, or a girl's name for that matter? After all I decided Demya's name. Perhaps you should name our second child, it is only fair."

"Hmmm well the way it never stops moving; I should name it the 'road runner' meep meep! " she laughed imitating the cartoon while tickling Demya.

"I can't have a brother named the road runner!" he giggled.

"Neither can he be called Carmine Cocomera?" Elliott laughed." I supposed I'll have to think on the names. Now can we close the light please and try ta get some sleep; we have a long drive tomorrow?"

Illya turned off the bedroom light and settled down to sleep, as he lay there beginning to drift off quickly as he usually would, he felt Elliott shifting her position, moaning in her discomfort. After this continued for several minutes, he rose from the bed walking around to her, whispering.

"Lay on your side my poor détka_baby" getting her to move with her back now facing towards him. He proceeded to rub her from her shoulders downward, gently kneading her muscles until he felt them slowly relax. He pushed on pressure points that the doctor had told him about, as he dug his thumbs into her spine, then he massaged her legs as he continued to worked his way down until her reached her feet.

He could hear her breathing settle; knowing she had finally fallen asleep. He kissed her on the ankle then returned to his side of the bed, nodding off himself in just a few minutes.

At six o'clock the next morning it was already 92˚ and the mercury was rising. Illya had packed the car and they awaited the arrival of Napoleon and Bella. They would be off to an early start to avoid the mass of traffic seeking to escape the city for the weekend.

Elliott, Demya, Bella and Auntie Olga would be driving over to New Jersey down to the shore where a cottage by the sea had been rented for the week. Napoleon and Illya would join them, sailing Solo's boat _The Independence_ down from Long Island once they finished their business at headquarters.

Napoleon pulled up in his new deep blue Pontiac GTO convertible, not exactly a family car but it suited Napoleon's boyish side. He parked it curbside in front of the Kuryakin's brownstone in the Washington Square section of Greenwich Village.

Illya opted for a dark forest green Ford Mustang, again not a typical family car, but the Kuryakins were not a typical family. Elliott was not practical in these matters as well, driving a powder blue Volkswagen Carmen Ghia.

Napoleon stepped lively around to the passenger door, helping his very pregnant wife Bella out of the car, though six months along in the pregnancy just like Elliott, she was carrying twins and was at this point quite huge. She wore a loose flowered dress and her long dark hair was pinned up on top her her head. Napoleon took her hand helping her to rise from her seat, giving her a peck on the cheek, the look of newlyweds still in their eyes as they'd been married only four months.

Like the Kuryakins, a honeymoon just didn't seem to be in the cards for them, but they planned to make up for that after the babies were born. Bella Solo seemed to be handling her pregnancy well, unlike the fiery Mrs. Kuryakin, she was more even-tempered and less prone to emotional outbursts.

"I wish you would take my car please?" Napoleon said to them. " Illya though having packed everything in the Mustang already, agreed with him.

"Yes is is a bigger car and offers more protection, the larger engine also has greater horse-power should you need to make a fast..."

"Illuysha, ne gruzís_don't take it so seriously! We're not going on assignment? We're going ta the beach fer God sakes?" Elliott laughed.

Olga Orloff climbed into the driver's seat, " Enough arguing in the heat, let's get going? The sooner we are out of the city, the happier we will all be." That being said, the two agents kissed their wives goodbye, Illya gave Demya a last minute lecture about not giving his mother a hard time, then a hug and a kiss.

"Papa will see you soon, then we will build sandcastles, swim and sail in Uncle Napoleon's boat. I heard we will see some fireworks too?"

"Fireworks? Really papa?"

"Da, ne ogryzát'sja, sledí za bazárum_yes, do not sass, behave and watch your tongue." he said touching his finger to the boy's nose, then gave his son a gentle swat on his bottom before putting him in the car. He mouthed the words "I love you" to Elliott.

He and Napoleon remained standing there on the sidewalk watching as the car pulled away, waiting until it was out of view; both men seemly uncomfortable.

Illya cast an uneasy glance at his partner.

"I know, don't say a word," Napoleon said, "don't jinx it."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're not thinking of the last vacation we took together at my family's cabin?"*

"No I was not, but thank you for now putting that thought in my head?" Illya clicked his tongue. " I was just concerned about two pregnant women, a child and an older lady behind the wheel on a long car drive in this awful heat, that is all."

"Right, Mr. _greater horse-power should you need to make a fast getaway?"_

"Alright, you win." he sighed trying to convince himself as he was ever the pessimist. " I am sure they will be fine. Coffee?" Illya then asked. He was unshaven, dressed in only a t-shirt and jeans and was obviously not ready to leave for headquarters.

Napoleon looked at his watch, seeing they had time to spare before the meeting with Waverly. " How about making that iced coffee?"

"That I _think_ can be arranged." his partner smiled.

* ref. "The Cabin in The Woods Affair"


	2. Chapter 2

Illya convinced Napoleon to come upstairs to drink his coffee sitting in the air conditioned bedroom instead of remaining in the stifling heat downstairs while he showered and dressed for the office, but Solo opted to lean in the bathroom doorway talking to the Russian while he bathed.

"So what did you do with the cat?"

"Boris is visiting with the neighbors." Illya called, rinsing the soap from his hair, "and will be quite content to be overfed by them.

As far as the neighbors were concerned, Illya and Elliott were Eli and Elise Manning and their son's name was Damien, all formerly of Great Britain. It was all part of the cover process that UN.C.L.E. had developed for agents that were married.

Spouses and children added complications to an already dangerous life. Thrush thus far had no made attempt to involve the husbands, wives and families of their enemies' agents but it was safer to err on the side of caution and not to assume that would remain the case. Agents who had their own homes such as the Kuryakins were brought under this grid of protection.

They received no mail at their residence, all of it was forwarded to headquarters. And the families lived under assumed identities, keeping their true names secret. Easy for the parents, but not always easy for the child. Demya was exceptional at obeying his parents, especially his father.

The problem of the children of operatives attending school had yet to be addressed. Demya Kuryakin was still too young for that, but he like his parents would be the first involved in ground-breaking policy for UNCLE. Alexander Waverly had proposed private schooling for such children,possibly offering it to the extended family of operatives such as nieces and nephews. It was in the developmental stages, having been one of the topics addressed at the last Summit meeting in Europe.

Napoleon swallowed another gulp of his beverage, still not feeling that cool. " You know you could have bought a bigger air conditioner, what were you being cheap again?"

"I was not being cheap nor frugal," Illya answered as he stepped out of the shower, grabbing a bath towel from the the hook and drying himself vigorously with it. "This was the only size they had left in the the appliance store as there has been a run on them...gee I wonder why?"

"Don't get your nose all out of joint, I was just asking? So was it _deshyvka_?" He teased Illya again with a bit of Russian.

"Like hell you were, you were accusing me of being cheap again. And it was not a _bargain_, it was quite dear actually."

"Well you are?

"Skryaga_a skinflint, that is what you are calling me." Illya feigned insult, "When are you going to learn the difference between someone who is cheap from someone who is frugal?"

"Neither one likes to spend money, what's the difference?" he chuckled.

Illya wrapped the towel around his waist leaning against the sink as he lathered his face to shave, choosing not to counter Napoleon's banter, thus ending the discussion.

A be-mused Solo studied his partner's familiar scarred torso, noticing that his profile looked fuller that usual.

"You have a gut!" he blurted out." I can't believe it tovarisch, you've gained weight? After all these years, it's finally catching up with you. Napoleon seemed almost smug about it after watching his partner pack away food year after year without so much as gaining an ounce, while he always had to watch what he ate.

"Napoleon, when will you understand that people such as myself need to eat more and frequently?I have a higher metabolic rate and therefore need to consume greater calories to fuel my body than you!"

Illya looked down with one of his crooked smiles, patting his stomach."Yes I suppose I finally have? But this is due to partaking with Elliott's in her late night cravings. At least," he mused, " she has desired things that are edible and not that pickles and ice cream myth that one hears so much about. It has been too bloody hot to exercise, but a week of swimming in the ocean will take care of this...tell me, Bella has had no such cravings?"

"Nope not a one," Napoleon lied through his teeth, not wanting to admit to his late night shopping trips to find pickles and ice cream for his wife. And not just any pickles, they had to be half sour Kosher pickles to accompany Rocky Road ice cream. The combination made him cringe. That was one snack he would not join in on.

The two agents arrived with time to spare at headquarters, finding the conditions there barely tolerable. The air conditioning was running at full capacity but doing little good as it was in sore need of maintenance, the week long heat wave having stressed the system to it's limits. The brown-outs and blackouts that the city was experiencing were at least not affecting the building as the backup generators would kick in when there was a change in the power.

To make matters worse, accounting was rearing it's ugly head, forcing parts of headquarters to be shut down to conserve operating costs that were going through the roof with the constant running of the air conditioning. They deemed it mandatory that the thermostats be set at 78 degrees, but that did not take into affect the extreme humidity and made conditions very uncomfortable.

"Of all times for them to be pulling this crap," Napoleon grumbled, pulling his handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from his brow as he and Illya walked towards Waverly's office.

Napoleon was as usual, dressed impeccably in a suit and tie, Illya was wearing a grey suit for a change with a dark blue short sleeved polo shirt. Both men hoped that once in the meeting that the old man would relax the dress code and allow them to at least remove their jackets.

The Russian looked up from the file he had been glancing at, adjusting his tinted glassed on the bridge of his nose.

"At least we will have a week at the beach with our families. That will surely be better than being here in this pressure cooker of a city will it not?"

Though Kuryakin was not a fan of sun and sand in the summer time, it was preferable to being in the city at the moment. If anything he liked to visit the beaches in the late fall. The cooler water temperatures were a delight to him, having been accustomed to the frigid temperatures of the Dnieper and Volga rivers back in the Soviet Union. Though his wife would always remind him how he used up all their hot water when taking a shower, even though it gave her a good excuse to step into it with Illya more often than not. Steaming hot showers, especially with his wife were his bit of decadence.

Napoleon, loved sailing on the water and just the opposite of his partner; he hated to swim; that being the remnant of a childhood accident where he nearly drowned in the lake up at the family cabin in the Catskills region of New York.

He paused as he adjusted his tie just as the pneumatic doors opened silently to the inner-sanctum that was Alexander Waverly's conference room.

"Ah Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin please be seated, we're just waiting for Mr. Dennell to arrive and we can begin our briefing. You may feel free to remove your jackets if you wish." The Old Man extinguished his pipe, laying in the crystal ash tray near his console. "I swear those confounded accountants would have us roast to death in this God-awful weather if they had their ways? The devil with this, costs be damned. Mr. Solo if you would be so good as to lower the thermostat please, at least for the duration of our meeting?"

"My _pleasure_ sir," he smiled happily, still removing his suit jacket.

George Dennell rushed in; apologizing profusely, having assumed he was late again. Once he and the other section heads were assembled; Waverly began his briefing beginning with field assignment updates. The only departments chiefs not present were security and enforcement/intelligence.

Bob Thorensen head of section VI was off to a meeting in Washington, and Elliott Kuryakin the chief of section III was on early maternity leave. Her assistant Patrick Krupinski was in attendance in her stead.

"I will attempt to keep this as brief as possible gentlemen, although we do have quite a bit to cover, as I am aware that some of you would like to begin your well-deserved vacations out of this city?" The Old Man actually cracked a smile, Solo and Kuryakin trying to hide theirs in the process, hoping the meeting would be short as Waverly promised.

Three hours later they finally broke for lunch, but it was a working one as Tille, Illya's friend and head of the commissary brought in a cart, serving their food there rather than having everyone go their separate ways.

"At least we can count on Tillie to serve us a good meal" Illya whispered to Napoleon as he dug into a second helping of apple strudel.

"Keep up that pace and Max Schneider is going to order you on a diet?"Napoleon jabbed, passing regrettably on desert.

Illya grinned at him and for once it was Solo rolling his eyes and not his Russian partner.

After lunch the so-called brief meeting recommenced, dragging on even longer. Napoleon looked at his watch, noting that it had now turned into a five hour meeting and didn't look to be ending anytime soon as some vultures from accounting had arrived to lecture on cutting costs in the field.

Illya, who was known for taking copious amounts of notes, was writing in Cyrillic and it didn't look like anything related to cost over runs as Solo spotted a mathematical formula in between the Russian characters.

"What is that?" he leaned over, whispering to his partner.

"Oh the formula for the air speed velocity of a fully unladen swallow." Illya answered completely deadpan, repeating a line that Mark Slate had heard in a _Cambridge Footlights _review when home in England.

"European of African?"

Illya shot him a surprised look at his partner's unexpected bit of trivial knowledge, since that was usually the Russian's purview, then realized Napoleon probability heard the same comedic story from Slate.

"Gotcha" Napoleon mouthed the word to him while making a face.

"Excuse me gentlemen, but if you have something constructive to contribute we'd appreciate hearing it?" Waverly asked them.

They both lowered their eyes, having been properly cut down to size with the man's chastisement.

It was now four o'clock in the afternoon when the conference room doors opened and Lisa Rogers walked in; a grave look upon her face.

"Excuse me for interrupting Mr. Waverly, but I have an outside call for Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Miss Rogers, we were not to be disturbed, " Waverly huffed.

"I'm sorry sir but it's an urgent call," she said apologetically.

"Fine fine, you may take it on my private line Mr. Kuryakin." Even Waverly was beginning to become tired of the day's proceedings. He flicked a switch on his console transferring the call to his line.

Illya picked up the receiver. "Mr. Kuryakin speaking. Yes, yes she is. No." Several seconds passed without Illya saying another thing until he blurted out one more word, "What?"

Napoleon watched his partner turn as white as a ghost, then dropping the phone; he took off out the door.

Solo grabbed the receiver. "Hello hello," said a woman's voice on the other end. "Yes?" Napoleon responded.

"Yes Mr. Kuryakin as I said your wife was in a car accident and is going to need surgery. I would advise you get here immediately as there is a concern for the baby. We found your business card in her purse and..."

"Yes what hospital did you say again?" he asked.

"Why Jersey Shore Medical...wait a minute, _is_ this Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Yes thank you." Napoleon hung up the phone.

Alexander Waverly alerted security to stop his number two agent from leaving the building, holding him at the Del Floria's exit until the head of medical Dr. Max Schnieder and Solo arrived, joining him for the trip to the hospital located not far from the coast in central New Jersey.


	3. Chapter 3

They arrived at the hospital after a breakneck car ride on I-95 and the Garden State Parkway, with Kuryakin behind the wheel, cutting the normal hour and a half ride by a third of the time. The trip was made in complete silence as both agents faces remained cold and emotionless, Max's eyes however, were filled with fear as he held on for dear life while Illya wove the car effortlessly at high speed in and out of traffic.

The doctor was still shaking off the feelings of terror from the trip as they stepped off the hospital elevator heading directly to the surgical ICU waiting area.

"You stay here and no arguments Illya," he ordered, " I'll find out what's going on."

The Russian sat down in the waiting room, looking more visibly distraught than Napoleon had ever seen the man.

"Tovarisch, I'm sure she'll be fine, and the baby too. Just hang in there alright? Max will make sure she's being taken care of.

"Napoleon, what am I to tell Demya if something happens to her? He understands that his father gets hurt, all too often. But never his mother, not like this. She is his rock, his stability. I come and go in his life but his mama is always there for him somehow," Illya sighed deeply, resting his elbows on his knees as he buried his face in his hands.

It was one thing to be injured on an assignment, that was somehow expected but an accident while on vacation? That was something unanticipated in his mind; Illya was taken completely off guard.

Olga Orloff stepped from the elevator, spotting Illya and Napoleon immediately. She was a strong woman but even she was showing signs of distress.

"Oh Illuyshenka, I am so sorry. I can't believe this has happened."

"How is Demya, is he alright?"

Olga went pale. "Illya, I do not have Demya. He was with his mother when it happened. I assumed the police would have brought him to you?"

Illya's look changed to one of dismay. "Then where is my son?" The pitch of his voice changing as he rose to his feet.

The elevator doors opened again and Bella walked out this time looking quite upset. Napoleon went to her immediately. " Are you alright, and do you know where Demya is?"

"I'm fine and no I don't know were he is, I was hoping Olga had him. I just got back from doing a little shopping when I heard about Elliott.

Illya was faced with a dilemma, stay or to leave his injured wife and unborn child and search for his son. "Napoleon, I do not know what to do?" He stood there running his fingers through his blond hair.

Napoleon put his hand on his normally cool-headed partner's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"Illya you take it easy and be here for Elliott. I'll contact the police and see what's happening. I'm sure they have him with child services?" he reassured him.

Illya was relieved that Solo had made the decision for him "Thank you," he whispered.

"Don't worry tovarisch, everything will be alright. I'll go get the little guy," he said pushing Illya back down into the chair.

Napoleon looked to his wife with concern in his eyes then put his arms around her giving her a kiss. "Stay with him honey okay?" he spoke softly into her ear as he held her close.

"I will, I'm good at this, I'll keep him calm. Please Napoleon find him?" She could see the concern in her husbands normally cool eyes.

"I'll try baby, I'll try." he sighed. He could see her worry as well, but knew Bella was in her element and would keep the Russian in check.

Max Schneider stepped from the elevator heading straight towards them and Illya rose again anxiously from the chair as soon as he spotted him.

"Relax she'll be fine, the baby is fine."

"What is her condition?"

"Elliott has a concussion, a broken left radius and cracked ribs. Contusions, abrasions and of course edema. She's pretty banged up but she was lucky. They did an ultrasound on the baby and she looks fine."

"She?"

"Yes it's a girl. You didn't know? Sorry, guess I let the cat out of the bag." Max smiled. "Your wife is in recovery now and should be up in her room in about an hour."

"A girl?" Illya gushed." letting himself smile for a second. "Max may I see Elliott now?"

Schneider smiled. "I think that could be arranged, U.N.C.L.E. credentials do carry some clout here. I warn you, she'll be a bit groggy."

Illya turned to his partner giving him pitiful look.

"I'll find him, don't worry," Napoleon said reassured him.

"Thank you," he said, as he turned to follow Schneider.

Illya was escorted up to recovery, along the way he could smell that familiar antiseptic odor, the cleaning fluids and everything else associated with hospitals and hated it. He detested these places with their poking, prodding and drugs. He tried to drive those thoughts from his head as he followed Max to where Elliott was resting, pausing for a moment as he tried to put on a good face for her as the nurse pulled back the privacy curtain.

Elliott lay on a gurney sequestered in a small room in the surgical recovery unit. Her head was spinning, and she felt sick to her stomach but at least she was feeling no pain. They told her there was an accident, but she didn't remember it. The last thing she could recall was her son crying because he had dropped his ice cream cone. She kept asking if Demmy was alright, but no one would answer her.

She closed her eyes fighting off the nausea, then when she opened them again, Illya was there looking down at her with his bright blue eyes, trying to smile. But she could see fear in his eyes, that were usually impossible to read, but not this time.

He took hold of her hand, kissing her palm. "Annushka, " he spoke softly," I am here."

"Illya" she moaned, "where is Demmy, is he alright. No one will tell me?"

He didn't know what to say but not wanting to frighten her; he dodged the question. "Fine, everything is fine."

"Hhhmm, that's good," she answered drowsily.

"Annushka, Ya lyublyu tebya."

"Love you too," she mumbled, "give Demmy kisses from his mama and tell him not to be scared. Elliott closed her eyes, drifting back to sleep.

Max walked up behind them. "Illya she's going to be out of it for a while. Once she's ready, I'll have her medevaced back to the city. Go find your son, she's in good hands."

"No Max, I will stay here with her. I know I can trust Napoleon to pick Demya up from the police."

Napoleon walked out into the excruciating heat, heading towards his car in the hospital parking lot. As soon as he reached it, he pulled out his communicator.

"Open Channel D- Waverly."

"Mr. Solo your report please, how is Mrs. Kuryakin?"

"Dr. Schneider anticipates a full recovery...concussion, some broken bones. The baby is fine, except..."

"Yes Mr. Solo?"

"Sir, Demya Kuryakin is missing. I am hoping he is with child services. I'll need some information from the police report?"

"I see." Waverly said."Mr. Solo you have my permission to use UNCLE resources to locate the boy. We can't eliminate the possibility that Thrush my have had a hand in this situation?"

"Yes sir I agree."

Lisa Rogers pulled up a copy of the police report, reading it for Napoleon. There was nothing of note, no mention of Demya. "The investigating detective is Jack Artamonov of the Spring Lake Police Department."

"Thanks Lisa."

"Good luck Napoleon. I hope you find him?'

"Me too, Solo out." He wiped his furrowed brow with his handkerchief in futility, wishing away the heat.

Napoleon headed off to find Detective Artamonov, eventually tracking him down to the scene of a break-in on East Lake Avenue, a well-to-do section of the picturesque shore hamlet.

"Excuse me sir, no press this is an active crime scene," the forty-ish, plain clothes detective called to Solo as he walked up the long walkway to the oversized Queen Anne style house. From the looks of it, the home was from turn of the century.

Napoleon pulled his U.N.C.L.E. ID, flashing it to the officer.

The man peered at the gold card for a second, then looked at Solo.

"So what brings you here Mr. Solo this isn't exactly an international incident that we're dealing with at the moment?"

"You are Detective Artamonov correct."

"That is correct sir, now what can I do for you?"

"You investigated an accident involving a pregnant woman earlier today, a Mrs. Kuryakin. She's one of our employees and her husband one of our agents. Their son was with her at the time of the accident. Did you take him to child services perhaps? I'm trying to locate him."

"No sir Mr. Solo, we don't have him. We have an eye witness that placed a child at the scene, but we couldn't find him. As a matter of fact, the witness, a one Agnes Schmidt just contacted me about an hour ago. She remembered seeing the child after the accident, apparently he was picked up by the driver of the vehicle.

"Where is he?"

"Sorry sir, he fled the scene. I'm guessing he took the boy with him. So we'll have to add kidnapping to the hit and run and leaving the scene charges. Tell me is the lady going to be okay? I'd hate the thought of having to add double vehicular homicide to the list."

"Mrs. Kuryakin will recover and the baby is fine, thank you."

"Mr. Solo do you have a photo of the boy, I can have copies made to distribute, and we can issue an all points bulletin for a missing child."

Napoleon pulled a color snapshot from his wallet, handing it to the detective. 'His name is Demya Kuryakin, almost four years old, approximately 44 pounds, blue eyes blond hair, very bright child. Speaks Russian fluently as well as a few other languages.

"Cute kid," Artamonov said. "Russkia da?'

"Yes, his father is Russian but Demya was born in the U.S. Do me a favor, don't indicate his name on the missing persons report...it's a security thing. Use the name Manning, Damien Manning instead?"

"Sure, will do Mr. Solo." he said, tucking the photograph of Demya into a folder.

"Another thing, Detective? Did you get a description of the driver from Agnes Schmidt?'

"Yes sir. She was pretty upset when she remembered the guy, she couldn't believe that she'd forgotten to tell me about him, said he was badly disfigured on the left side of his face like he'd been burned. She described him almost looking like a skeleton.

Napoleon knew instantly from that description who the man was that had taken Demya Kuryakin. The last time he had seen him was nearly four years ago outside of East Berlin. He was trying to auction off kidnapped agents from around the world, and nearly brainwashed Illya into killing Alexander Waverly and Elliott. * From the description, it couldn't be anyone other than former U.N.C.L.E. agent turned traitor, Owen Smythe. And Napoleon figured he was back to again try seek his vengeance against the Kuryakins for what was done to him.**

He walked back to his car, pulling his communicator pen from his pocket.

"Channel D- Kuryakin."

"Have you found him?" he asked anxiously.

"Illya it's not good news..."

There was silence for a second. "Is...is my son dead?"

"No Illya, I don't think so. I'm afraid an old enemy has reared his ugly head. I think your son has been taken by Owen Smythe."

That name struck fear into the Russian's heart; the man having wreaked havoc last time Illya had seen him; the drugs and conditioning Smythe had given nearly killed him.

"An eye witness described Smythe to a tee, it has to be him. He was identified as the driver of the car that struck Elliott and was seen with Demya in his arms."

There was more silence. "Illya?"

"I am here."

"We'll find him, you have my word on it tovarisch."

"I know."

Kuryakin's voice sounded distant, and Napoleon could only imagine what was going on in his friends head.

"How is Elliott? Did you tell her about Demmy?"

"No. She will be alright. Max is going to medevac her to New York.

"The baby?"

"Fine! They are both fine!" he snapped. "Sorry, are you coming back here?"

"Yes, I'm on my way, hang in there buddy."

* ref "The East Berlin Affair" ** ref. "The Mind Control Affair"


	4. Chapter 4

The women arrived nearly two hours later after their hot drive from New York at the picturesque Cape Cod they had rented for the week just off the board walk along Ocean Avenue in a town called Spring Lake; the house facing directly out to the Atlantic Ocean.

The sun was blasting down on them from a cloudless sky as Olga, Bella and Elliott dragged the suitcases from the car and through the front door, dropping them just inside to look around, and catch their breath.

"Thank God! Air conditioning!" Bella said, turning the unit on.

"I will start cleaning," Olga announced, not even wanting to take a tour of the house.

Bella and Elliott looked at each other shrugging their shoulders and laughing as they took a good look at the interior of the lovely little house they would stay in for a long overdue vacation. Neither couple had ever gotten around to having a honeymoon and supposed this was going to be the closest thing to one, not that it really mattered. The Solos married four months ago, The Kuryakins nearly four years.

"Mama mama, there's a back yard, and swings and monkey bars can I go outside? Please, please?" Demya was nearly bouncing off the walls, having a fair amount of pent up energy from the long car ride.

Elliott walked through the kitchen, opening the back door, peeking out the back. The yard was fenced in and the gate was shut, satisfying her.

"That's may I..."

"Yes mama, may I go outside?" He was jumping up and down in excitement.

"Yes, ye may, but ye are not to step one foot outside that yard! Vy ponimaete meny_ do you understand me?"

"Da mama tebya ponimayu_ yes mama I understand you." Demya knew that when his parents spoke Russian to him, they were to be obeyed completely. There was to be no bending the rules.

"Go!" she laughed, "get out from underfoot so we can unpack then. And ye be careful on the swings please?"

"Da mama, spacibo."

Olga had already started scrubbing the bathroom while Bella and Elliott laid claims to which bedrooms they wanted. It was a three bedroom house and would be comfortable enough for the week.

Demmy had the choice of sleeping where he chose for once. Either his parents room or with Uncle Napoleon and Aunt Bella, though his mother had a funny feeling he would invade his Uncle and Aunt's bed," she thought, chuckling to herself at the idea. Illya had packed a small cot, just in cast the boy became too much.

Each bedroom had it's own air conditioner and there was another unit in the living room. There was a dining room and a small table in the kitchen so there would be plenty of space for meals.

"This is going to work out great," Bella called from her room as she finished putting the last of her and Napoleons clothes in the dresser and closet. The she pulled an iron from the suitcase, having packed it, knowing that her husband liked his clothes to be wrinkle free.

What was nice was then that Napoleon would iron them himself and not expect her to do it for him like a dutiful wife. He was accustomed to taking care of himself and that made her quite happy. She had enough work caring for sometimes demanding patients at the hospital, and didn't need a husband who liked to be waited on. Though he practically doted on her every whim at the moment. Bella would tell him that he was spoiling her but he would only smile. God she loved that man!

Elliott threw the clothes in the dresser, not worrying about if they needed to be re-folded. They could be pressed if needed as she had brought a small travel iron with her just in case. She and Illya were used to living out of suitcases and kept one for just that purpose. She stood in the doorway getting ready to tell Bella she had brought it when Bella stepped out with a full sized iron in her hands. The two of them saw what they each were holding and laughed.

"Oh yah, this is going to be a good vacation." Elliott called back.

"Great minds think alike, " Bella answered her.

They were unpacked organized and ready to relax. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to go into town to do some shopping it's a quaint little place from what I hear." Bella said.

"Tis,' Illuysha and I have been here before. We used to come down to a place called the Warren Hotel. Lots of kids came over from Ireland ta work for the summer and earn extra money there. They have great traditional Irish music sessions on Sundays."

Elliott suddenly realized she missed going to that place; it had been a long time since she and Illya done something so impulsive as driving down to the Warren for the weekend.

Being parents and home owners all made life a little more hectic and there were more assignments than ever pulling Illya out into the field.

That Elliott found she was missing that very much, but she had made her decision to leave the field. Her priorities had changed, her babies had become her life. Being a wife and mother were more important now, and besides being the chief of section III had it's perks. He schedule was nice, and she could come home from work everyday and not disappear on Demmy. That little bit of security for the boy was priceless. Since she was pregnant, Waverly would not send her on any Archangel assignment, and those as a matter of course were far and few between anyway.

The little one kicked again, making Elliott rub her belly, smiling. "Ye are going to be a heller when ye are born my littlest Kuryakin?"

"Then I guess we'll have to check it out tomorrow." Bella called," maybe we can eat dinner at this Warren Hotel."

Elliott grinned. "Now that sounds like a plan, I haven't heard some good music in a long time. Between working for U.N.C.L.E. and being a mother I don't have much time for anything else?"

"Wait until the other one is born, then you'll really know the meaning of not having time."

"Ah sure, looks who callin' the kettle black?" Elliott laughed. " Ye and Napoleon are catching up to us in one shot."

"I have to admit," Bella smiled, " I am a bit nervous about having twins, but I know I can handle it. I come from a big family with lots of kids, you know?"

"But sure it's different when it's yer own." Elliott smiled.

Bella grabbed her purse and a big straw hat, depositing it on her head.

"So want to walk into town with me? If I recall from the brochures, there's a butcher and we can pick up something for dinner?"

"I'll go with ye, but let's not cook tonight. Let's _make_ them take us out, after all it's a vacation isn't it?"

"You know Elliott, I like the way you think." Bella laughed.

Elliott opened up the back door, calling to Demya who was hanging upside down by his knees on the swing set.

"Yes mama?"

"Come we're walking into town."

"Aw mama, but I'm having fun?"

"Demmy, nyeeet."

"Daaaa, mama, coming." The boy trudged into the house obviously not happy about ceasing his playtime.

"But can't I stay with Auntie Olga?'

"No, it's a vacation for her too ye know. Auntie Olga can't watch ye all the time?"

They left Olga in her glory, scrubbing away, even though the house was immaculate. Elliott did't argue with the woman as that was her way and this was what she liked to do. "We'll be back in a bit Olga. Anything you want from town?"

"No dearest, not a thing. Spacibo."

Walking into the small town, strolling through the residential area that surrounded it was a treat for Bella, as she was a city girl and used to Brooklyn and now of course life in a penthouse with Napoleon. The houses in this town were big, beautiful and reeked of old money.

"I heard they called this place the Irish Riviera," Elliott said, "But fer the life of my I've never met any Irish that lived liked this?"

"Tell me about it, " Bella said, sounding very much like a girl from Brooklyn," pretty fancy schmancy if you ask me? The closest we ever got to the beach when I was growing up was Coney Island and there's nothing like this around there."

By the time they had reached the business section of the secluded town, Demya was getting peevish. The heat was beginning to bother him, as he'd been outdoors for quite while and was just not accustomed to it. He was becoming over heated and began to whine and complain to his mother.

"Mamaaaa, I'm hot. Can't we go home now?" Demya was not a fussy boy, prone to any fits of temper as he had more of his father's personality and just like his papa the hot weather was obviously getting to him, making him a bit irritable.

She looked to Bella who was eagerly window shopping. "Do ye mind me abandoning ye for a bit. I need to get the lad something cold to drink. To tell ye the truth I could use something myself, this heat is bloody awful. I don't know how ye are managing it carrying twins?"

"It's my Mediterranean blood Elliott, it loves the sun. You go ahead and take care of Demmy. I'll meet you later back at the house?"

"That would be grand." Elliott sighed in relief, " come on boy-o let's get something cold to drink alright?"

She and Demya wandered down the block in the opposite direction from Bella, when Elliott spotted an ice cream parlour across the street.

She took him by the hand, stopping to tell him to look both ways before crossing a road.

"Look Demmy ice cream, that'll be good won't it?"

"Yes mama, can I, no may I have chocolate?"

"Very good Demmy, just for correcting yourself you get two scoops, good lad!" She was happy that he remembered to ask properly and only wished that Illya were there to hear him, as it would have pleased him, since he was more quick to correct Demya than she was.

She ordered a double scoop for him as promised, and a small one of vanilla for herself and laughed when Demya's eyes opened wide when the man behind the counter handed him a huge ice cream cone.

"Yahblo ot yabloni nedaleko padayet_like father like son," she mused as she watched him dig into it, licking the ice cream with great relish. Elliott took her son by the hand, deciding to head back to the house as her back was bothering her again and the baby was kicking away. She needed to lay down and take that afternoon nap she had become accustomed to lately.

"Come on Demmy let's go back to see Auntie Olga now." she said as she took his hand. Elliott stepped off the curb, suddenly distracted as Demya pulled back on her hand, then he started to cry. She turned to him quickly, while they were both standing just in the street.

"What's wrong darlin?"

She realized he had dropped his ice cream cone, and was standing their wailing away at it as it melted to a puddle in the street."

"Jay-sus, don't cry Demmy, it's alright? Mama will get ye another one, just stop crying please!" she pulled a tissue from her pocket wiping the tears and the chocolate from his face and hands, handing him her own cone to quiet him.

"NO! I want chocolate!"

"Don't ye take that tone of voice with me young man?" Elliott was startled by the loud screech of tires, having just enough time to push Demya away onto the sidewalk before the dark car struck her, sending her through the air into air, landing fifteen feet away.

Agnes Schmidt was coming out of the ice cream parlor and screamed as she saw the woman thrown into the middle of the street as a car hit her.

"Oh my God, somebody call an ambulance!" she called as she ran past the little blond boy as he was crying. "Stay there honey, don't cry, help is coming for your mother."

Agnes saw the driver get out of the car that had struck the woman who's bloody red head, she now cradled in her lap. His facial appearance was frightening as it was hideously scarred, looking like someone had taken a blowtorch to half his face, melting it like wax, making him look almost skeletal; he was grinning bizarrely.

She thought that strange, and watched as he walked to the sidewalk, picking the little boy up his arms. Then a crowd of people gathered around her and she couldn't see them anymore.

An ambulance arrived on the scene ten minutes later as did the police department. Agnes was so excited about the poor woman when she realized she was pregnant that she forgot to tell the policeman about the driver of the car, and his hideous face. She only remembered the little boy standing there crying and now he was gone...


	5. Chapter 5

Napoleon arrived at the hospital just in time to see Elliott being loaded into an UNCLE helicopter to be taken back to medical at headquarters.

Her injuries would not require an extended stay but Max Schneider wanted to keep her under observation for her head injury on U.N.C.L.E.'s home turf and to watch out in case anything else cropped up that they hand been unaware of.

There was no indication of internal bleeding but in the case of traumatic injuries from being struck violently by an automobile, it was better to keep her for a few more days. He was sure the baby was alright, but just wanted to be on the safe side.

There was also the issue of her missing son. She didn't know and Illya was holding off telling her. Elliott was known for her volatile temper, although it had been brought under control after she married the Russian, periodically it could rear it's very nasty head. Max had a feeling it was going to be bad when she found out about Demya.

Illya accompanied her in the hilo, while Napoleon returned to the cottage with his wife and Olga Orloff. It was late and he decided to spend the night there, then they'd make an early start of it in the morning to return to New York. He asked his wife if she wanted to stay the rest of the week at the cottage along with Olga, but they both refused. Olga would drive back in Illya's Mustang, and Napoleon had the sedan he had picked up from the motor pool.

"I may not be able to help you with your business Napoleon,"Bella told him," but I most certainly could stay with Elliott when Illya isn't around. I have a feeling she shouldn't be alone?"

"Maybe? She can get pretty bad, you've never really met that temper of hers. Even when Illya was missing, she kept it in check but I kind think of her more like being an unpredictable explosive device. You never know when she's going to go off, or what will make her detonate for that matter? I have a feeling she's going to be like an atomic bomb when she finds out about her son.

"She gets that bad?"

"Ooooh yeah."

"Napoleon, you seem to know her awfully well, in fact didn't you tell me she was very special to you?" Bella hesitated, then her instincts calling to her made her take a leap in logic, "did you sleep with her?"

Napoleon said nothing as he peeled off his sweaty clothes with a sigh. He'd been dressed in his suit all day having finally removed the jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, but it still wasn't enough to keep him cool while he'd been walking around town showing Demya's photograph. If the boy's disappearance were indeed Smythe's doing, then he was more than the bastard was long gone by now with the boy. He didn't want to admit it, but he hoped that the child was with Smythe, as at least Demya might still be alive, but for who knows what real reason why he was taken?

Napoleon refocused his thoughts as his wife's question about Elliott un-nerved him; knowing he couldn't say anything, but his silence forced Bella to draw her own conclusion.

"I'm guessing by your silence that it's a yes." she said quietly." You know what, I'm sure it happened for a reason and like your other paramours of the past...I don't want to know the details."

He lowered his eyes, knowing that he was about to break his trust with Elliott, bad enough he had broken his with Illya?

"She wasn't a paramour, it just happened and was something we both regretted it instantly. Look, Illya doesn't know and that's the way it's going to stay." *

Bella raised one of her eyebrows at him then crossed her arms in front of her. " You know these things always have a way of catching up don't you and biting you on the posterior don't you?"

"Trust me baby, I know that, but not if I can help it."

"Do you still have feelings for her?" Bella was a strong woman, but the nervousness was evident in her voice.

Napoleon wasn't going to lie to her. "I thought I did once, but the answer is no, not those kind of feelings were long gone even before I met you. She's my friend and my best friends wife. She adores Illya and he adores her and that's all that matters. And I'm not going to ruin that, my mistake almost did and I swore to Elliott this secret would remain intact, so my beautiful wife whom I adore, please swear to me that you'll never reveal anything about this?"

"Napoleon we all make mistakes, some very stupid ones _obviously_ by what you and Elliott did. Don't worry, I'll keep it secret I promise...better than you just did?"

"Hey if a man can't trust his beautiful wife and the mother of his children, then whom can he trust? He flashed her one of his charming smiles." For a second his thoughts drifted to Elliott, knowing that Illya had trusted her." He drove that from is mind ad he looked into his wife's eyes." Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

"Yes, but you can tell me again," she laughed softly.

Napoleon pulled his wife into his arms, holding her there he looked into her eyes. "I love you Josephina Isabella Maria Gabriella, and I always will." Then he kissed her deeply, grateful that she had been so understanding about his indiscretion with Elliott.

"eww, you stink," she moaned," you need a bath?"

"Sorry, it's been a long hot afternoon of hitting the pavements." He climbed into the shower, relaxing under the lukewarm water that should have been cold but right now, there few things happening as they should have been on this day.

"Coming in," his wife warned him. Bella had learned her lesson a while ago, never to surprise Napoleon in the shower as she nearly ended up judo-flipped onto the bathroom floor the first time she tried sneaking into the shower with him.

"Entrare, mio dolce_ enter my sweet," he called to her in Italian. He smiled as Bella stepped under the water with him.

"Mmm that feel good," she smiled.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, holding her belly while he kissed her on the nape of her neck.

"Ah!" she let out a little squeak of delight."feel that?"

Napoleon grinned as he felt the babies moving."God that is amazing, that's _our_ babies."

"Mmm they must know you're here, I think they can hear their daddy's voice?"

"Daddy," he mused to himself, he was still amazed that there would be two little children calling him that, yet he his thoughts went instantly to little Demmy; giving him sinking feeling in his gut. That was one of the fears he had when he had first debated about becoming a father; what if an someone from the other side...a bad guy took his child?

Illya was handling it well outwardly, but that wasn't really surprising as his friend had the ability to seemingly turn off his emotions to the world at will, but then he had no idea what was going on in his partner's head, nor his heart. The name Ice Prince hadn't been heard around headquarters for some time now, but Solo wondered it it would return if Illya went into his stoic Russian mode on this one.

Demya Kuryakin was very much liked at headquarters when he was brought in for a visit, mostly by his mother. The female staff fawned over him and unlike his father; they boy seemed enjoy being the center of attention. Demmy was a _happy_ version of his father.

Knowing a good portion of Illya's background, he wondered if the poor guy ever had much happiness in is own childhood? Illya was a loving father, but a bit on the strict side, but given his chosen profession, raising his child that way only served to protect him.

Demya was not coddled, nor was he babied. Illya knew there that his son could never have a normal childhood, but strove to make it a pleasant one for his boy.

He hoped that he would never have to face what Illya was going through and uttered a silent prayer him and his family. Napoleon Solo made up his mind he was going to spoil the hell out of his children. Time was a precious commodity and he wouldn't waste a moment of it once they were born.

Things could change in the blink of an eye; what happened to Elliott and Demmy was proof of that. He knew that he could be gone tomorrow and would make sure his babies would know how much he loved them.

Napoleon shook the thoughts away from him as he lathered up a cloth with some soap then started to wash Bella's back, massaging her at the same time.

"MMmmmmmhaa" she laughed, " You are goooood."

"So I've been told."

"Napoleon!"

"Just teasing, so mio Bella have you started thinking of names for our little ones?"

She pushed him around with his back to her now while she took a turn at bathing him.

"Well if there's boys how do you like Marcus Antony, and Cesare Augustus, keeping with your family tradition of weird...I mean historical names for the male Solos.

"Marcus and Cesare? Hmm, " he smiled at her, " I like them, excellent choices wife of mine."

Napoleon turned around, pulling Bella to him, planting a long passionate kiss on her lips as he began to fondle her breasts."Nooo,"she whispered as she pushed his hands away, " it hurts."

"I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean to...?"

"Napoleon it's alright, they're just getting too sensitive that's all." she ran her hands along her belly, " At least I'm not getting any stretch marks?"

He opted to reach down, teasing her with his fingers, trying to entice her into making love.

"Oh no, don't start," she said," not in here, on the bed maybe, there's too much of me to be comfortable doing it in the shower and besides I don't want to take a chance on slipping?"

They rinsed off, towel-dried each other. Bella took a moment to rub her abdomen with vitamin E cream, then joined her husband between the sheets that were crisply cool from the air conditioning.

Bella lay on her side as Napoleon made love to her, slowly carefully, and avoided touching her breasts. His rocking was slow, steady and rhythmic as Bella moved with him while he nibbled playfully on her throat. It wasn't long before he felt her muscles contract as she reached orgasm, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction, then let himself go in an exquisite explosion of pleasure; he moaned loudly.

"Shhhhush," she giggled, "Olga might hear you?"

"Not with two air conditioners running." he laughed.

Their second love-making session was brief this time as he didn't want to tire Bella, carrying twins was sapping her energy more quickly so they took it nice and easy. He used his hand to tease her into climaxing quickly then slipped from her, kissing her on the cheek as he pulled away.

Though they had enjoyed pleasuring each other, their love-making was a bit tentative; the accident and disappearance of Demya were both on their minds, but neither of them wanted to voice it, it was too terrible to speak about at the moment.

"So the boys names are set, what about girls names? he whispered as he held her in his arms.

'You don't have any ideas for boys names, that's it? You're just accepting my suggestions?"

"Yep, as a matter of fact I like them a lot, Marcus and Cesare Solo, good strong names, after Marc Antony and Caesar Augustus, pretty big players in Roman history. Darius Solo will approve, not that I need his approval that is..."

Bella just rolled her eye, as she had pretty much had it with the senior Solo after the way he had acted at the wedding, thinking she wasn't good enough for Napoleon. With the exception of his mother and niece, the whole Solo family was just strange. She still hadn't even met the brother Hannibal, though at first it was thought he's boycotted the wedding, it was found out later that he had been delayed in Rome on some important embassy business.

Hannibal had promised his brother he wasn't angry with him for not asking him to be he best man; Napoleon opting for Illya to have that honor and the younger Solo promised to come back to New York when the twins were born. That Bella thought, she'd believe when she saw it.

She snuggled next to her husband as now the air conditioning was almost too cool. "Napoleon, why don't you pick the girls names?"

"Alright, that's a fair deal... I've always liked my great-grandmother's name. Apollonia."

"That's beautiful." she smiled.

"Then there's my grandmother's names, Andalucia, and Celeste Antoinette."

"Celeste Antoinette? Oh that's right, I forgot you're French Canadian on your mother's side."

"Napoleon those are lovely," Bella smiled, " but my family tradition is for girls to have long names..."

"Like Josephina Isabella Maria Gabriella?"

"Exactly."

"Not fair, that means I have to come up with more names than you?"

"Poor _baby_, such a hard job I've given you."

"Does it have to be four names each and do I have to decide now, or can I think on it?"

"Silly, or course you can think on it, we do have three more months remember?" And at least three names each please,"she yawned. " Okay, I'm tired now il mil amore_ my love, could you turn out the light now?" she asked.

"Sleep well little mamma mia."

"Little? Yeah right, I feel like a beached whale."

"Oh so I should call you Moby right now?"

"Don't you _dare_ Napoleon Solo!"

"Just teasing, honey you aren't that big, considering you're carrying twins?"

"Thank you, but you're not _that_ good a liar. Now good night Napoleon?" she sighed.

"But..."

"Sleeeep." she groaned.

Napoleon chuckled a little as he reached over to the night stand, clicking off the the light. "Night baby, I meant, babies."

The helicopter arrived after a very short flight, setting down on the landing pad located atop the roof of UNCLE headquarters. A medical team greeting them as Elliott was moved to a gurney. She had slept for the entire trip, and was still out as they rolled her to the elevator for the trip down to the medical level.

Illya watched as they wheeled her into the elevator, then accompanied Max down in the next one, but instead going with him to the medical wing he headed straight for communications.

He sat himself at the one of the open consoles, and began typing away furiously on the keyboard. Illya sent out communiques out to all UNCLE offices inquiring on any activity or sightings of Owen Smythe. He drew a photograph of his son from his wallet to scan into the computer, hesitating for a moment as he stared at the boy's image, fighting back his emotions. In spite of what people thought about him, he had them and he was having a hard time controlling them at the moment.

He was feeling frightened, hurt, angry, confused, his emotions running the gamut; making it hard for him to concentrate. The thought of that animal Smythe having his beautiful little boy now made him feel like he wanted to murder someone.

God help anyone who said even looked at him the wrong way given the mood he was in right now.

He was always a little more ruthless in his approach to his enemies than Napoleon and had to curb the bloodthirsty side to his nature, but not this time. Owen Smythe would pay for this with his life. Illya just hoped that he could get his son back safely, then he would kill the grebanyi ublyudok_fucking bastard.

He scanned the photograph of Demya into the computer, then sent it out attached to the the notification. sending notices to Interpol, Scotland Yard, the FBI and several other organizations, not waiting for Waverly's approval. Napoleon was told to use UNCLE resources to find the boy, and he was sure that applied to him as well.

Illya took one last look at the photograph again before returning it to his wallet, remembering the day it was taken. Demya was playing in the backyard, it was early spring and he was wearing a white hooded sweatshirt. The boy had spotted a baby squirrel in the tree and had put his finger to his lips, telling his father to be quiet. And that was when Illya snapped the picture; his son's eyes were so bright and full of life, his face serious but filled with innocence.

Illya stared, looking into those blue eyes, fighting back the tears as they welled up in own eyes. "Dorogoi Bog, pust' on budet zhivym i nevredimym_dear God, let him be alive and unharmed?"

His head was pounding with a terrible headache as he walked to the elevator heading up to medical. He supposed he should have reported to Waverly, but at the moment he didn't give a damn and just wanted to be at Elliott's side. He stepped out to the floor greeted with a sad nod by Nurse Walsh standing at her station.

"She's in room three Illya."

"Thank you Judy." he said quietly without stopping.

He walked into the darkened room, not realizing the time until he looked at this watch. It was nearly two in the morning as he pulled up one of the molded chairs beside her bed, sitting down and resting his chin on his arms; crossing them as he leaned on the mattress.

He stared at her intently, watching the sheet move as she breathed, dreading the thought of having to give her the news of their son. The steady blip of the heart monitor was almost hypnotic, lulling his eyelids to become heavy until he fell asleep, laying his head down on his arms.

"Papa!"he heard Demya calling to him."Papa where are you? I'm scared! Pappaaaaa!" the boy screamed.

Nurse Walsh walked in the door as Illya gasped awake with a start.

"I"m sorry Illya, did I startle you?"

He rubbed his eyes quickly, "No it is alright." He felt his heart racing from the dream, or was it a dream? Could he have sensed his son calling out to him as he remembered his Uncle Vanya's words about him having a touch of the gift, a sixth sense as it were.

"You looked exhausted," Nurse Walsh said," there's a bed right there why don't you get into it and get some sleep. She's fine, you'll be three feet away from her?"

"Judy, perhaps you are right." he sighed, looking over at the bed."

"I'm right, but you're not. I'm not Judy, she just went off duty."she smiled, "now let's go mister, I want you in bed."

"Ah Nancy if I were a single man, that statement might be quite enticing from a lovely woman such as yourself." he offered her a half smile.

"I think you've been around that partner of yours too long, " she laughed quietly, as she took a quick look at Elliott, making a note of her heart rate and respiration on her chart.

"Good night Illya." Nancy Walsh said as she left the room

He climbed into bed still not opting to remove any clothing, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow; hoping there would be no nightmares.

* ref. "The Archangel Affair"


	6. Chapter 6

Napoleon arrived at headquarters just after eight in the morning, dropping off his wife while changing to a fresh suit at their penthouse apartment. He was dressed crisply in a light brown suit with a dark silk tie, and in spite of the on-going heat; he looked very cool and collected as he walked with deliberation along the maze of nondescript corridors.

He went straight up to medical, as he had allowed some time before his meeting with Waverly. Walking past the nurse's station; an unfamiliar face of a new duty nurse caught his eye as she signalled which room to head to. But he paused for a moment, leaning forward on top of the counter eyeing her name badge with a twinkle in his, offering her a gleaming smile.

"Thank you, Stephanie. "Solo, Napoleon Solo we haven't met and no offense but I hope that we won't get to meet again under professional circumstances?"

"Oh I know who you are, Nurse Walsh warned me about you."

"Really, and which one was that? Nancy or her sister?"

"Noooo," Stephanie laughed, "she told me you'd probably say that and said to tell you if you can't remember her name, then not to tell you."*

"So there really is two of them?"

"Nice try Mr. Solo, but I'll never tell."she laughed softly.

He leaned his elbow on the counter, resting his head in his hand,"So what else did she tell you about me?" he crooned.

"You're quite the ladies man."

He smiled again, "the _legend_ lives"; he found that amusing. " Ah dear Stephanie, would that I was unattached, I would ask you out for dinner and dancing in a heart beat." He held up his left hand, flashing the diamond encrusted gold wedding band that he wore," but my heart belongs very much to another."

He snapped his finger, flirting with her innocently, playing the game and as far as the Walsh twins, he could really care less if there were two of them or not. A few years ago it would have irked him but now the only woman he had eyes for was his wife Bella. He ended his brief dalliance with Stephanie, giving her a little three fingered salute, then headed down the neutral achromatic colored hallway.

He was usually being wheeled into this part of headquarters on a gurney; rarely taking note of the dreary color of the place. it was just as cold and antiseptic as the rest of building and thought just a touch of color here in medical might cheer up the agents who were confined for prolonged recoveries.

He poked his head through the doorway, spotting Illya sitting at Elliott's bedside, and an empty rumpled bed next to hers. Napoleon wondered if his partner had gotten any sleep at all; seeing the Russian's bloodshot eyes as the man gazed up at him; looking like hell and still dressed in the same clothes he had worn from the day before.

"How is she?" he whispered.

"Her stats are alright, just waiting for her to wake up." He yawned.

"When are you going to tell her?"

"I am trying not to think about that."

"And you tovarisch, how are you doing?"

"Fine."

"That's a _lie_ if ever I heard one."

"Alright, I am not fine, does that make you happy?" Illya looked back at Elliott as she still slept," Could we take this outside?"

They walked out to the nurses station pouring themselves cups of coffee. Illya leaned there, obviously tired from his night's vigil.

"You're going to have to tell her you know?"

"Do you think I do not realize that?"

Max Schneider walked up behind the two of them; overhearing the conversation. " You haven't told her yet?"

"_NO_, I have not told he yet!" Illya snapped. "Please could you both stop asking me that?"

"Illya, I need to know, since I suspect I am going to have to sedate her" Max said. "given your wife's proclivity towards emotional outbursts."

"Well you would have heard the explosion then if I had told her would you not?" The sarcasm in he voice was evident.

Max gave Illya his version of the stink eye, letting him know that he did not appreciate the Russian's tone of voice.

"Alright, I will do it shortly, just give me a few minutes to freshen up?" Illya walked off the use the men's room to throw some water on his face.

He stood at the sink in the restroom staring at himself in the mirror, his eyes were red, with dark circles under them, looking all the more stark because of the paleness of his skin. His hair was a mess, face his unshaven. making him look all the more unkempt as his beard was was darker in contrast to his blond locks.

He ran the cold water, scooping it up in his hands, splashing it on at least to make him feel more alert. The only thing that would really help was a shower and that would have to wait for now. He returned a few minutes later, nodding silently then taking a deep breath as he walked into his wife's room with his partner and Dr. Schneider

"Just remember buddy, I'm here for you and we're going to find him," Napoleon said.

Elliott was awake now with the duty nurse trying to serve her a light breakfast but the Nurse Stephani was stopped in her tracks as the food tray came flying across the room, missing nurse as she deftly stepped aside just in time.

"She picking up some of your habits, tovarisch?" Napoleon jibed.

"You have no idea, but she does have quite a few alarming ones of her own, Illya said flatly, " you may want to take cover."

"And I heard you were bad Mr. Kuryakin." Stephanie said as she abandoned the mess in the room for now."I'm going to go feed the human patients."

"Stephanie!" Max snapped at her.

"Sorry Doctor," she mumbled as she retreated past them.

Illya went immediately to Elliott's bedside, taking her hand before she could make anything else airborne.

"Find who?" Elliott muttered as she sniffled." And what the hell happened ta me?" She raised her forearm, eyeing the cast that now covered it.

"Annushka, " Illya kissed her hand "I never thought I would say this, but you have to stay here under observation. You have a concussion, not to mention some broken bones. The baby is fine though. So Elliott do as I say, not as I do and please cooperate?"

"Ya right, ye going to tell me what happened ta me then?"

Illya glanced up at Max then back to his wife. "You do not remember the accident?'

"No, what accident?"

"Tell me the last thing you do remember?" Max asked.

She ran her fingers through her long red hair thinking back for a moment. "Demmy was crying, he'd dropped his ice cream cone...ah the poor lad was hot and cranky. I was wiping off his face and hands," she laughed softly for a second, " he was covered in chocolate. God he loves it like you Illuysha.

I gave him my vanilla cone and that did't please him at all. I never should have made him walk into town with Bella and I...wait, is he alright, is Bella alright?" that suddenly dawned on her.

Napoleon interjected at that point. "Bella's fine, I just dropped her off at home. Well so much for a vacation again? How do you manage to complicate these things Mrs. Kuryakin? " he said trying to deflect her thoughts from Demya.

She ignored Napoleon's wisecrack. "Illya what happened ta me?" she asked him sharply.

"You were hit by a car in the street."

"A car?" Elliott held her head. " I was hit ...by a car?" her voice trailed off for a second as she struggled to recall the incident. "Well since I don't remember it then I must disavow any knowledge of my actions." she laughed, then held her head as that made it hurt when she did that.

"How's Demmy, I guess he must have been pretty frightened?"

Illya lowered his head. That reaction did not bode well to Elliott. "Illya where is Demmy?" His hesitation caused her to jump to a horrible conclusion. "Oh God, is he hurt, he's not dead is he? Illya tell me he's not dead!"

Her heart rate began to increase on the monitor.

"Illya where is my Demya?" she demanded.

Now came the moment that he had dreaded. "Annushka" he began slowly," there is a problem."

"What problem, will ye just feckin' tell me. Is something wrong with my Demmy?" The heart monitor continued to beeped rapidly.

Illya gave it to her straight, "Anya, Demya has been kidnapped..." he hesitated again. "we believe that is was Owen Smythe who hit you with the car and in the confusion he took our son."

Elliott's eyes went wide with disbelief."What, what do ye mean he's been kidnapped? My baby, that feckin' gobshite has my baby?"

Her Irish accent became very pronounced. "No...no that can't be." She cried out, becoming more agitated."Ca bhfuil mo bhuachaill_where's my boy!" she screamed out in Irish. Elliott began pulling off the monitor leads, working herself up to a near frenzy. " I have ta get out of here, feck this, I have ta find me boy. Illya we have ta go find him!"

"Annushka stop!" Illya raised his voice as he grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her in the bed. "Elliott, stop it now!" Stop it!" he yelled trying to restrain her. " You have to stay here for now! The baby, you have to think of the baby, our little girl."

"A girl? "that bit of news distracted her for just a second, " we're havin' a girl...but what about our boy. Where is our boy!"

There was no consoling or calming her, giving Max Schneider cause to quickly pull a syringe from the pocket of his white lab coat. He uncovered the needle, giving the plunger a little push, removing any air.

"Hold her still" Max called out.

"What is that?"

"100 mg. Librium."

Schneider injected it into her arm and within a few minutes she had relaxed, becoming a little drowsy."

Napoleon stood at the bedside, watching while the normally stoic Russian nearly lost control of himself, fighting back his tears. There was nothing he could do or say to make his friend feel better, but he placed a strong hand on his shoulder. Illya reached up, resting his hand on top of it.

"Thank you, I am glad you are here."

Elliott finally dozed off, but Illya wouldn't leave her until someone from Security was brought in to stay with her. She was extremely strong willed, and given her state of mind and motherly instincts he knew that she would take off in an instant in search of their son.

lllya felt his own emotions screaming to come out, but this needed to be dealt with a cool head. Right now his wife didn't have her wits about her so he needed to keep a level head, in spite of what the ache in his heart was telling him.

The pregnancy had Elliott already highly strung and now this news about Demya could push her over the edge and endanger the baby. He would rely on Max to keep her calm with his detestable concoctions, even though Illya hated drugs; in this case he knew they were a necessary evil.

Napoleon left them alone for a minute, waiting outside the door for his partner. "We have a meeting with the Old Man in a half hour, " he said looking his partner up and down when the man joined him. "you better get yourself cleaned up."

"Yes I know I look pretty bad, I will see you downstairs then." Illya headed to the elevator, going down to the gym to shower. He had a change of clothing in his office.

He hung his suit near the shower to let the steam smooth out any wrinkles, then stepped in, sighing as the hot water cascaded down his sweaty body. He couldn't stop the memory of his dream as it kept replaying in his head, hearing Demya screaming for his papa he leaned his hand against the wall, letting out a single sob. He finally gained his composure again, knowing that it had to be maintained in order to get through this mess.

Illya dried and dressed himself, arriving at Waverly's office with five minutes to spare, stepping through the door as it opened silently.

Napoleon was there seated at the conference table along with Waverly.

"Good morning Mr. Kuryakin, please be seated?"

"I am aware that you sent out bulletins to all our offices as well as communications to local and international law enforcement agencies, and I commend you for acting quickly given the emotional circumstances of your son's disappearance. However this situation I'm afraid, is too close to you and your wife and I have decided to temporarily remove you from the field. You will be permitted to be involved in the investigation, monitoring communications and overseeing the search efforts from headquarters."

"But sir , I need to be …"

"You need to be here with your wife; this state of affairs is too emotionally charged for you and I will not have you going into the field, possibly getting yourself and others killed."

"You have a wife and another child, a little girl as I understand to worry about as well. Mr. Solo will be spearheading the field investigation and I assure you young man, all of our resources will be made available to find your son, that I promise you."

Napoleon watched as his partner's jaw tightened. His face reddened, the only sign that he was becoming angry. Illya stood up, storming from the conference room with out a word.

"Mr. Solo, you know your partner better than anyone else, I am relying on you to make him understand my decision...Napoleon, find the child and with all alacrity. I do not mean to sound harsh, but we can ill afford having my two best agents unavailable for pressing assignments."

That stung, but Solo knew that the Old Man was right, his people were expendable, though their families shouldn't be. But they were at risk just like U.N.C.L.E.'s agents and it was a reality that had to be accepted. In spite of the circumstances; he and Illya still had a job to do.

Waverly's point hit home, making him swallow hard, thinking about his own wife and children, casting an infinitesimal doubt about having a family. Napoleon knew It was too late now to be worrying about that now as he was married and soon to be a father, and could only hope he could keep them safe.

Both he and Illya knew in the back of their minds that was just a matter time before an adversary made a move against the family member of an U.N.C.L.E. agent. Why it had to be a little boy like Demya was something that Solo couldn't fathom.

This world in which they operated, full of the cloak and dagger subterfuge and danger had finally spilled over into the private lives of Illya and Elliott Kuryakin and could cost them the life of their son. Napoleon wondered for a second that perhaps the original no-marriage clause hadn't been such a bad idea after all?

But he would be damned if he was going to let that innocent little boy die. Napoleon didn't know how, but he was going to find Demya Kuryakin and get him back.

* ref "The Enemy from Within Affair"


	7. Chapter 7

Days later there was still no word what so ever regarding Demya Kuryakin with no clues, ransom demands or sightings of either the boy or Owen Smythe coming to light. They had simply disappeared.

Illya was monitoring every Thrush communication as they had become aware of the fact that UN.C.L.E. was looking for their former operative, but as he had sent out the images of Demya in separate messages; thankfully the feathered ones had not put two and two together.

Being invisible was not really a difficult thing for Smythe to do; being a former U.N.C.L.E. agent who knew how to stay under their radar; he had turned to T.H.R.U.S.H. and then went rogue. The hadn't resurfaced for a good many years and what brought him out at this point in time was open to conjecture.

There was the speculation that he wanted to exact revenge against Illya and Elliott as they were both responsible for his being outed as a traitor as well as for his hideous disfigurement.* He had tried unsuccessfully to assassinate them once before, along with Alexander Waverly,** then literally dropped out of sight. Until they heard from Smythe; no one would know his motives for sure.

Elliott Kuryakin was finally released from medical, as she was already on maternity leave, she received continued orders from Dr. Schneider to just "take it easy."

Her only response to him was, "Yeah, right."

Illya sat behind the wheel of his Mustang, Elliott seated in the passenger seat beside him as he waited in traffic, trying to get home. He had a bottle of sedatives in his coat pocket and instructions from Schneider to administer them as needed, but he did not like the idea of giving her drugs at all, mostly because of the baby. It was late afternoon and they were caught in rush hour.

"I suppose we should have held off a bit? he shrugged, " I am sorry, I should have realized the time of day? Would you want to stop for some supper and wait it out; there is not much in the refrigerator at home? We are not far from Chang's?"

Elliott just stared, not turning to acknowledge that he was speaking to her.

"Alright then, Chang's it is." He made the decision for her, pulling the car to the curb, getting out and pulling a handful of coins to feed the newly installed parking meter. He found that a bit annoying, having to pay to park a car on a public street, but such was progress in the city.

Illya walked around to the passenger side, opening the door for his wife, holding out his hand to help her. She reached out slowly, placing her hand in his as she stepped out gingerly with one arm in a sling. He was careful watching that she didn't twist, as her ribs were wrapped tightly.

Mr. Lee the owner of the restaurant was as usual standing there at the podium located just inside the entrance, greeting his guests and called to them enthusiastically. "Ah Mr. and Mrs. K. soooo good see you. Welcome back!" he said.

He eyed Elliott's delicate condition and grinned. "Congratulations another baby for you," but politely said nothing about her injuries, the sling and the cuts and bruises on her face, all too obvious. "This is very auspicious year to have new baby! It is year of monkey, children born this year are skillful, talented and flexible. They very original, creative and sensible, but strong willed and short tempered. I must tell you story of Monkey King so you may tell it to your new baby!"

Illya winced at that last one about being short-tempered, it was bad enough with Elliott's sometimes petulant nature in the household, and he hoped that Lee's prediction would not come to fruition regarding his daughter's temperament.

"Where your little boy, he not with you?"

Illya shook his head excitedly, letting Lee know to shut up."

"Oh, yes ...yes let me seat you right away. Your usual booth in back is free, follow please?"

Illya helped seat his wife as Mr. Lee left the menus, a waiter appearing moments later with a pot of green tea.

"Are you hungry my darling?" Illya asked, "I am sure the food was not appetizing in medical, even though it is Tillie's cooking; they always make her keep it too bland and why they insist on that awful green jello, I will never understand?" He continued trying to make small talk to no avail as Elliott just sat, staring into nothingness.

"Annushka, what would you like to eat?"

She finally directed her gaze to him. "Not hungry."

"My sweet, you have to eat something, you must maintain your strength? It is not good for our little girl, or for both my girls for that matter? he managed a little smile for her.

She shrugged looking away from him.

"Elliott, you _will_ eat something...please?

The waiter returned taking Illya's order for Egg Foo Yeung and fried dumplings for himself, egg drop soup, shrimp toast and a spring roll for Elliott. Not much of a meal for her, but it was better than nothing."

At least he didn't have to prompt her to eat and she slowly spooned the soup into her mouth, still not saying a word. The toast and spring roll remained untouched.

Together they ate in silence; Illya not trying to push her any further as his own appetite was off as well, but he forced a few mouthfuls down before he finally pushed the plate away. Normally his stomach was like cast iron, but he tonight was feeling the onset of indigestion; not surprising, given the worry that he hid from his wife.

Once they were home in their own house, he hoped she might relax a bit more and realized he needed a bit of peace himself. They had to eventually discuss their son's situation and formulate their own game plan, irregardless of what Alexander Waverly had ordered him to do. Any plans they made had to be done with calm, level heads. Something that neither he or his wife had at the moment.

He would have to sit tight for now, making use of U.N.C.L.E's intelligence network but when the time came, he would go after Owen Smythe, praying that his son was still alive. Either way, Smythe was a dead man this time. He had hesitated once to kill him and now in hindsight of course he regretted it; if he had killed the man then this situation would never have happened.

Illya paid the bill, bringing the left overs home in take out containers as he was one to never waste food. His hunger now gave way to a full on upset stomach and after Napoleon's teasing about him having gained weight; that left him wondering perhaps if he needed to watch his portions as well after all.

He wasn't getting any younger, and knew that eventually his metabolism would begin to change. He could ill afford becoming overweight for the remainder of his tenure as a field agent. If he became too heavy, he would be sluggish and that could mean the death of him, not being able to move quickly enough.

It was amazing that just nearly a year ago he had returned from death's door, having nearly starved to death in the Solovki gulag as a guest of Viktor Karkoff, his former sponsor and mentor in the Soviet Union.*

When last Illya heard, Viktor Karkoff had managed to escape his detention in the gulag with the help of some loyal KGB operatives after he had been incarcerated there for kidnapping Kuryakin.

If it hadn't been for the C.I.A. setting Illya up in the first place in one of their ploys to infiltrate Russian intelligence with a double agent; then Karkoff would never have been given the opportunity to capture and torture him as part of his sick revenge.

Illya as a young, novice GRU agent had nearly caused an international incident in Paris, Karkoff lost face and position in the GRU because of it, and swore vengeance against his former protegée.** And now he was thinking that another spectre from his past was trying to do his family harm. He wondered how many enemies he had made over the years would again creep out of the shadows.

Again he and Elliott rode home in silence heading up Broadway, turning right onto 3rd Avenue, then onto Sullivan Street past New York University; around the corner was home.

He helped his wife from the car, then walked ahead of her, opening up the wrought-iron gate, then hopping up the steps to the vestibule. He opened the door immediately punching the security code in the keypad to disarm the security system.

Then turned, expecting to see his wife right behind him, but saw her still standing at the bottom of the steps, simply staring up at the doorway.

Illya walked back down, taking her hand, guiding her up the eleven steps, as if she were unsure of herself. Once inside he walked her into the living room, lowering her to the sofa. He carried the left-overs into the kitchen, putting them into the refrigerator.

Then looking at the freezer, he hesitated; pulling out the chilled bottle of vodka that he kept there and poured himself a shot, then another before he put the bottle back.

That was the fourth shot of vodka he'd had today, and probably wouldn't be the last, the way things were progressing.

He put on a kettle on the stove for tea, even though it was hot he knew a cup of her favorite Irish blend might be soothing for her. Illya stood in a daze himself for a bit, letting his thoughts wander until the shrill whistling of the tea kettle called him back. Pouring cups for both of them; he carried them out on a serving tray to the living room.

"Annushka, some tea for you. It may help to ease your nerves?

"Soothe my nerves?" she finally spoke, " how can you talk about nerves when that foul git has our baby boy? Why aren't ye out there trying ta find him?"

He put the tray on the coffee table in front of her, offering her the cup and saucer. She reached out, smashing it from his hand, sending the china across the room, shattering it to pieces. " I _don't_ want any feckin' tea!"she hissed at him.

"Elliott!" he snapped at her, " you need to stop this. Then he lowered his voice. "U.N.C.L.E. is using all it's resources to find him. Waverly has put Napoleon in charge. He will...we will find him. I have been banned from the field but rest assured I will find Demya and I will kill the fucking bastard that took him!" He walked out of the room, retreating to his office.

Illya slumped at his desk; the first thing that caught his attention was a drawing that was laying there. It was rather technical, a facsimile of a dodecahedron, the twelve pentagonal sections separated and drawn proportionately in different color crayons. The overlapping color changes were even correct...that was his mother's doing, Elliott had a good eye for color," he mused. Printed in neat letters in pencil beneath the picture were the words, "for you papa" and signed Demya.

Illya let free a little sob, as he held the paper is his trembling hand. He could be a cold-hearted spy operating in the the world of espionage, capable of killing in the blink of and eye, but this was his son, and the fear pulled at him a fear such as he's never felt before.

"God, protect him, take me in his stead if you must have a life, please?" He wiped his eyes, returning to the living room finding Elliott gone, and for a moment he panicked but he door alarm was still set, then he saw that a light was on upstairs.

He moved up the flight of stairs, his feet feeling unusually heavy then headed down the hallway, finding her laying on their bed still fully clothed.

"Come, let us get those off you. Perhaps a good nights sleep in our own bed will help you feel better enh?"

He reached to help her sit up, but then she growled at him.

"Don't feckin' touch me. Don't come near me... ischézni_just go away." Elliott buried her face in the pillow, refusing to look at her husband.

Those words tore at Illya's heart, but he complied with her wishes as she was too high strung at the moment for him to argue with her and he had neither the inclination or the energy to do so. He only hoped sleeping at home would improve her disposition by the morning.

Illya walked down the end of the hallway, turning on the air conditioner, then set the sheet in place at the top of the stairs. He took a blanket and pillow in with him into his son's room, laying on the floor to sleep as the spare bedroom had been converted to the nursery, and the fourth upstairs bedroom was at the moment being used for storage.

But sleep was not in the cards for him as he lay there staring in the dark at his son's belongings. Demya's telescope, lego bricks constructed into a myriad of interesting shapes, the ceiling that had been decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars and planets and the drawings that covered the walls, everything from jet planes to rockets. He suspected his son would be some sort of scientist, perhaps involved in the space program someday, he mused.

Those thoughts came crashing down when he remembered his son could be dead; his feelings brought farther down when he heard the sound of Elliott's voice sobbing as it echoed down the hallway.

* ref. "The Gambit Affair" **ref. "First Kill" *** ref. "The East Berlin Affair"


	8. Chapter 8

Days turned into weeks, then finally more than a month had passed since the young Kuryakin had gone missing. His mother had become completely distant and uncommunicative, now spending her days and nights in solitude at home.

Illya at first sleeping on the floor in his son's room had since moved to the living room sofa, as Elliott had completely banned him from their bed. She was inconsolable and refused to have even the simplest conversation with him.

They were both feeling devastated about Demya but now Illya began to fear for Elliott, as little by little he was losing his wife to her grief and he had no clue what to do to snap her out of it.

The house was quiet, and if wasn't for the sound of Boris meowing, looking mournfully for her companion Demya, there would have been complete silence. There was a time in Illya's life when he loved living like that, being alone and having no one that he had to speak to on his own time. But now he craved conversation, just a few words from his Annushka, anything; the loneliness was becoming unbearable.

The house was so empty without Demya in it; Illya had never really paid attention to the noises his son made but now he would give anything to hear them.

He barely suggested that Elliott speak to Dr. Mansur in the psych department and that got a vase fired at him from across the living room. She seemed to like to be smashing things lately, so he avoided saying anything else that might set her off.

She had been to medical for her check up with the obstetrician but the doctor was not happy as she was showing signs of losing weight. Her moods and depression being the major cause of her lack of appetite; but he hesitated prescribing anything for emotional enhancement because of the pregnancy. He recommended a special diet that would provide her with adequate caloric intake, but did not require large portions. Salmon, lots of vegetables, fruits and nuts, and told Illya to get food into her somehow otherwise he'd consider putting her in a hospital bed and force feed her if necessary. He sent her home with the most potent vitamins and supplements available.

The doctor was well aware of the situation with their son and made sure Illya knew what to do. The Russian himself had begun to lose weight and the extra pounds that Napoleon had teased him about were long gone. Now he too was beginning to become underweight. Illya's higher metabolism required that he eat food often, sometimes in larger amounts but now stress was affecting his appetite, causing him to eat much less but he suffered the resultant headaches in silence. He understood his wife's lack of desire to eat, but she was eating for two; he wasn't.

There was little for him to do at headquarters beyond paperwork and monitoring communications as there had been no information at all received about Owen Smythe; it was if the man and his son along with him had ceased to exist. He was checking in with his contacts on a daily basis but suspected they were getting tired of hearing his voice and of course not having any news to give him made the conversations awkward.

Illya was losing his ability to concentrate in his lab and had given himself to working out in the gymnasium, usually on the parallel bars or using a punching bag, which had to be repaired at least twice because of the ferocity of his attacks as it was obvious that he was taking out his anger and frustrations on it. No one dared to offer to spar with Kuryakin, given the foul mood that he always seemed to be in now days. Word had spread around headquarters about the boy, so the topic was avoided like the plague less someone suffer the wrath of one pissed-off Russian.

He was sitting in on the Monday morning briefing of the section head, today it was being conducted by Patrick Krupinski, the number two operative in section III and Elliott's right hand agent. There were a number of people being considered for promotion to section II and it was Pat's job to go over their stats and make recommendations in Elliott's stead as she was out on maternity leave.

Illya listened, but was in reality letting his mind drift to other thoughts, wondering if Napoleon had discovered any clue as to the where abouts of Demya. He had not seen his partner lately as Napoleon had been sent out in the field, working on other assignments as well as overseeing the search for the boy. Alexander Waverly was becoming impatient at the lack of progress being made and Kuryakin knew the hammer would eventually fall; Napoleon would be given another priority assignment and he himself would be ordered back into the field, thus ending the search for Demya.

The Old Man was willing to use organization resources to find the missing boy, but there were limitations that even he had no control over.

The disappearance of Kuryakin's son would be swept under the rug as an unsolved case, unless something turned up soon. If that happened, Illya feared it would drive Elliott completely over the edge, and he himself would not be far behind her. He had made up his mind that if UNCLE gave up on the search for his son, then he would give up on UNCLE, tendering his resignation to continue in the pursuit of Owen Smythe on his own.

The drone of Krupinski's lecture was disturbed when door to the conference room opened and Lisa Rogers entered, she glancing at Illya then heading straight for Waverly with a manila envelope in her hand.

Waverly withdrew the contents, examined what looked like photographs then returned them to their packaging. He cleared his throat, then spoke. " Excuse me Mr. Krupinski, a matter has just been brought to my attention and I'm afraid we need to adjourn the meeting for the present. We can reconvene later this afternoon if you don't mind...Mr. Kuryakin if you would please remain?"

"Yes sir Mr. Waverly," said Agent Krupinski, as the folders and data were gathered from the conference table, he then gave a hand gesture waving everyone to vacate the premises quickly.

Waverly placed the envelope on the circular conference table; turning until it arrived in front of Illya.

"These were just received from the police department in Albany, they were taken approximately three days ago, unfortunately the local leos there were not quite up to date on the missing persons report on your son, if they had been then they might have been able to act more expeditiously."

Illya felt his heart pounding as he took three photographs from the envelope; fighting back his emotions as he saw them. They were pictures taken from a security camera in a local bank showing Smythe and standing beside him, holding his hand was Demya. Illya traced his finger along his son's face. He looked to be in good health, though was dressed in ill-fitting and what looked like second-hand clothes. He was staring, looking quite blank and Illya wondered if Smythe had used any drugs on him to keep him compliant.

Demya had been lectured by both his parents never to go with strangers and to run away if someone had tried to lure him away, but in this photograph the boy look complacent and detached.

"This is at least some good news Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly said." as we know now in all likelihood that your son is still alive. Mr. Solo has left for Albany with several teams to to search the area and local police departments in the adjacent towns have been alerted. The F.B.I. has also sent a team into the area as this is the first concrete evidence as to your son's whereabouts."

"Sir may I join..."

"No, you may not. Your job is here to continue to monitor our outside sources. I understand that neither you or your wife are in an appropriate mental state at the moment and that I'm afraid precludes you from the field. Young man, I know what you are going through as I am a father and a grandfather and would be beside myself if my child had been taken."

"I remember the distress that I felt when my eldest daughter had wandered off when she was but five years old...dreadful feeling, dreadful. I know you are thinking otherwise, but I will not abandon the search for your son, this I promise you. I am not heartless, a child is the most precious possession that one can have."

Waverly pulled out his pipe, sucking on the mouthpiece but not lighting it in deference to Kuryakin, whom he knew would feel ill from the potent odor of the tobacco. "I feel somewhat responsible for your predicament...Illya."

Waverly very rarely addressed him by his first name." If I had not encouraged you and Miss Mc Gowan to let your romance and family grow, then none of this would have happened. And I will see to it that your son is found somehow, no matter how long it takes. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir, thank you Mr. Waverly I do."

"Enough Mr. Kuryakin, I think it best you head home and give your wife the good news of your son's sighting. I understand from Dr. Schneider that she is not faring well...we need to keep her healthy both mentally and physically for the sake of your other child do we not?"

"Yes sir, the obstetrician has given me a diet for her to help maintain her weight, as she has not been eating enough as of late."

"Well you should follow that diet yourself young man. I need you in top shape for when this matter is resolved and you are returned to active duty."

"I will sir, " Illya actually cracked a smile, feeling flattered at Waverly's candor and concern as he was always about business. For the Old Man to speak with such care painted a very different picture of the the most powerful man in U.N.C.L.E.

* * *

><p>The heavily scarred man stepped to the teller's window at the bank, having the need to convert English pound notes to American dollars. The woman looked up, startled for a moment at the man's features, trying not to gasp at his appearance.<p>

"Ugh, yes sir, how can I help you today."

"May I." The little blond boy standing at the man's side corrected her.

"Excuse me, young man?" Then she realized he was right, but thought the boy at first was being a little impudent correcting an adult.

"You know," she smiled, "that's absolutely correct, it's may I. And you deserve a reward for that." She reached over the counter, offering him a choice of Tootsie-Roll Pops from a glass dish.

The boy looked up at the man for a moment as if he were asking permission.

"Go ahead, " the teller prompted him, " I don't think your daddy will mind a reward?Do you dad?" she smiled at the hideous man innocently.

He nodded his head to the child, prompting the boy to take just one, a chocolate lollipop, which the little fellow instantly shoved into his pocket instead of his mouth.

"British currency, hmm? We don't see much of that here in Albany, how do you like your visit so far?" The man said nothing to her in response; getting the unfriendly message, she completed the transaction to change the money, not saying another word. He turned away without uttering so much as a thank you, then left the building with the child's hand grasped tightly in his.

"God did you get a load of that guy, he'd scare the hell out of anyone with that face on a dark night?" The next teller commented.

"Dark night? My God even in the daytime," another giggled.

"Yeah what a cute little boy, having a father that looks like that? Wow, wonder if the mother is around? Good Lord, I wouldn't want to be married to that?"

"Maybe he doesn't have a mother, if he did then she wouldn't have let him go out in public in those clothes...he looked like a little rag-a-muffin didn't he?"

"That little boy seemed kinda strange, any kid I've ever given candy to had it shoved in their mouths in a heartbeat, and he looked sort of underfed didn't he?"

"And he looked like he was in a bit of a daze didn't he? I mean his cute blue eyes looked sort of blank?" added the original teller.

The bank manager came up behind the tellers at that point, snapping his fingers at the women. " Let's go ladies, less talk and more work. You're not here to chat when there's reconciling to be done?"

Outside on the street Owen Smythe opened the door to his dark sedan intending to put the boy in the passenger seat, but it was at that moment that Demya suddenly came to life, trying to pull his hand free of Smythe's grip.

"Stop it!" the man hissed in his British accent.

"No! I want to go home!" Demya called out, then started to cry as he continued to try to free himself.

Smythe raised his hand to slap the boy but then a voice stopped him in mid-action.

"Everything okay here Mister?" A street patrolman asked.

"Fine officer, everything is fine. The boy is just having a temper tantrum that's all."

"I want my mama, where's mama.?"

"Please stop your whining?" Smythe said out the side of his mouth, " You can't see her as she is...away." He picked Demya up in his arms, as the boy began kicking and screaming." Papaaaaaa!"

"Alright," the officer said," looks like you have your hands full?"

"Yes, I most certainly do. Thank you for your concern." He shoved Demya into the passenger seat then moved quickly around to the driver's side, getting in.

"Look, if you don't behave your mother and father will be very cross with you when I tell them how you've been a bad boy? If you continue to misbehave; they may not want you anymore? Parents don't like bad boys."

He took a small glass jar with a clear liquid in it from the glove compartment; then taking the lollipop from Demya's pocket, he dipped it in the solution then handed the candy to the boy.

"Now eat your lollipop and be a good boy, you annnoying little git."

He watched as Demya shoved the candy hungrily into his mouth; a few minutes later the dazed look returned to the child's eyes.

That reminded Smythe that he hadn't eaten lunch yet, but decided it best to head out of town to dine, as one never knew if there were unwanted observers watching. He supposed he should feed the little brat to keep him quiet; being amazed at the appetite on such a small child. He would lace his food with more of the drug to keep the boy under control, as it would soon be time to head up to the Canadian border, then to across the sea.


	9. Chapter 9

Illya walked from the office holding the envelope tightly to his chest. He stopped for a moment leaning against the grey corridor wall, as his heart had started pounding wildly again. He felt as though the were having an anxiety attack, fighting to compose himself as he finally continued through the maze of corridors in to the agents exit in Del Floria's.

He headed home for the first time in weeks with some semblance of hope in his heart. He drove over to Park Avenue to Broadway, then over past the University on Sullivan Street, the but the street parking was scarce because of an event going on there so he was forced to park several blocks away from home. The news about Demya gave him a little spring in his step and putting a good leg under it, he reached the front gate to his home in no time then, taking the stairs in three strides; he paused looking at his wristwatch.

Olga would be gone to her doctor's appointment...then he noticed the date on the calendar. It was his birthday, he had completely forgotten about it. Not that birthdays were of any significance to him, but Elliott liked to bake a cake if he was not off on assignment, more so for Demya's benefit. The boy loved blowing out the candles and of course eating the cake, it was his job to lick the icing from the spoon when the cake was being decorated.

Illya always told his wife no gifts and at times there weren't, but then there were times that she would surprise him with something quite special, one year it was a silver samovar, another was a hand-carved chess set made in Russia.

Napoleon too would manage something, in the old days they would go carousing and drinking, but alas they were both beyond that now. He'd received some tokens from his partner over the years such as pens, tie bars and lastly a gold Omega wristwatch, the very one he was wearing. He kept it at home. making a point of not wearing it on assignments just for safe keeping. His being pulled out of the field temporarily gave him the opportunity to wear it again. Napoleon said when giving it to him, that he needed a little decadence in his life now that he was a homeowner and on his way to becoming an American citizen; that was if the C.I.A. didn't stop stonewalling the process for him.

The Russian permitted himself a bit of a smile when he thought about the inscription on the back of the watch; _partners by chance, friends by luck, brothers by fate._ The news that his son was alive like this watch was an unexpected gift, but finding Demya would be the best birthday gift of all.

He called out to his wife as he reset the alarm system. "Elliott?"but as usual there was no answer," Where are you? I have news."

He found her seated at the dining room table, still dressed in her nightgown and robe. There was a plate with toast and a fried egg set there, but it seemed untouched.

"Annushka there has been a sighting." he smiled with a sigh.

She had photographs spread out across the table, family photographs. She held one of Demya playing on swings in the park and turned it up to Illya, "Remember when this was taken, taken... he had played on swings and monkey bars that day too, the day he was taken," she said with a terrible sadness in her voice. It seemed everything reminded her of that infamous day.

"Elliott, stop. Listen to me?" He grabbed her by the arm to get her to focus.

"Demya was seen three days ago with Smythe in a bank in Albany, that means he is still alive! Napoleon is there now looking..."

"Why aren't ye out looking fer him? What kind of father are ye, not lifting a bloody hand ta find yer own son?"

"Elliott I _have_ been trying to find him. I am using all our resources and calling in any favors that are owed to me. You know I am assigned to monitor communications while..."

"Sure sit back on yer arse and let other people out there do the searching fer ye? Ye and yer feckin' machinery doin' the work fer ye. Why can't ye be a _real_ man and get out there lookin' fer my baby!" She suddenly switched into Irish, cursing him out with passionate vehemence. "Is feckin' amadán mhór thú... fear caillte na himeartha_you're a big fucking jerk..loser!"

Illya stood with his mouth open, not knowing what to say to her. The pitch of her voice was rising as was her volume. Even though he had given her good news she was ignoring it and for some reason was focusing on lashing out at him.

"This is all yer fault! Ye did this, ye didn't kill Smythe when ye had the chance! Chyortu! Damnaigh thú! DAMN YE if ye don't find my son!" She switched between Russian, Irish and English without so much as batting an eye.

"Elliott please do not do this?" He released her arm, taking a step back.

"Why didn't ye just do it?" She slapped Illya across the face, taking him completely by surprise.

"Ye feckin' coward, ye don't care do ye!" she screamed at him, "Napoleon, he's a man, a real man out there lookin' fer my boy. I should have known that the day he made love to me... I should have married him when he asked!"*

Elliott covered her mouth with her hand, realizing what she had just blurted out in her uncontrolled tirade.

Illya stood aghast as the sting of her words hurt him as had the slap; his heart felt like it was breaking.

"You and …_when_?" his voice hardened.**

"Brazil, when he rescued me from the General."

"And how long has this been going on?"

"It hasn't...it was just the one time, please Illya it was ..."

He couldn't say it at first, "You lied to me when you said that you were raped, did you not? You were pregnant and YOU said it might have been the General's child," for a moment Illya thought he was going to be sick. "It was Napoleon's?"

"No Illya no no, it was your child! Max confirmed that! That's the truth of it!" She wouldn't go that far, lying to hurt him, as angry as she had been with him. She couldn't believe that she had let her dark secret slip out, cursing herself silently for her callousness and stupidity.

"You lied about everything else, why should I believe you!" Illya's face turned beet red as he spun on his heels, then stormed out the front door slamming it so hard behind him that he cracked the frosted glass panel in it.

He walked across the street into the park, bumming a cigarette from a man sitting beneath the great Arch. Illya puffed on the noxious thing, coughing a bit as he'd quit smoking, his lungs now rejecting the offending nicotine-filled smoke. He tossed it aside, snuffing it with his shoe as he kept on walking, block after block as his anger began to rise. He stopped when he found himself in front of Del Florias, though he had not intended to go there but subconsciously his mind led him to his home away from home.

He went into headquarters up to his office; the look in his eyes and the determination with which he moved made anyone in the corridors give way to him, perceiving that the Ice Prince had returned. Illya locked the door to his office then sat at his desk, pulling out a bottle of vodka that he kept there for _medicinal_ purposes then a glass, filling it; he downed the shot in a single gulp.

"S Drem Rozhedenya grebanyi_happy fucking birthday, Kuryakin, he mumbled to himself. He poured another glass, then did it again and again. "Da, pit' zapôem poca on ne byl p'yan v stel ku_yes, he would drink like a fish until he was shit faced. That was the only plan he had at the moment in hopes of numbing the pain and hurt that he was feeling. He had been duped by his wife and his friend.

.

Napoleon arrived at headquarters from Albany with nothing new to add or any successful leads. He remembered that it was his partner's birthday and though Illya generally didn't want gifts, he had decided to get him a new throwing knife. That was something he didn't think his partner would mind. He had it wrapped in a soft leather sheath, no paper or bows, as it would have been over the top. It was a custom-made Hibben knife designed by the martial arts expert himself.

Heather gave him fair warning when she pinned his ID badge to his jacket. Something big was up with his partner, Illya had come into headquarters with foul and furious temperament and had locked himself in the office he shared with Solo.

Napoleon went there immediately, banging on the door for it to be unlocked. "Illya what's wrong? Open up? Heeey, I've got your birthday gift for you?" He tried joking.

He heard a string of epithets slurred in Russian, telling him to go to hell, then calling him a grebanyi huesos?

"Illya that's a little _filthy_ even for you?" he replied, "Will you open up and let me in? Tell me what's wrong please?" Napoleon remained calm in spite of Illya's vicious verbal attack against him.

Someone from R & D showed up with a device used to override interior electronic locks; Napoleon entering his own door code into it to countermand Illya's. The door opened silently and Napoleon stepped in, seeing his partner hunched over his desk; a nearly empty bottle of vodka sitting in front of him.

"What the hell is going on? Please don't tell me something has happened to Demmy that I don't know about?"

"Fuck you! You back stabbing bastard!" Illya growled at him."Vy predatel' skaya svoloch'!" he repeated it in Russian.

"Now _that's_ going to require an explanation tovarisch?" Napoleon said, his annoyance becoming detectable in his tone of voice. It was obvious that his partner had too much to drink and for this time of night that was not a good sign.

"Do not call me that, you are not my friend...friends would not do what you did to me, or should I say to Elliott?"

"Oh boy?" Solo mumbled as he tucked Illya's gift in his back pocket, " aaaaand what exactly was that?"

"You know damned well! You could not resist could you? You could not stand to let me have anything to myself?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You fucked my wife! You bastard." Illya stood up, stepping towards Napoleon, grabbing him by the lapels, shoving him violently against the wall with a loud grunt. He drew back his fist taking a drunken swing at him. Solo ducked easily as his partner's hand drove past his head into the wall, making a sizable hole in it.

Napoleon backed away out of arms reach, just in case tried it again then gestured with his palms up and open wanting to show his sincerity. "Illya, I can explain..."

"Sure you can, it was just another case of you not being able to keep it zipped up right...but you proposed to her too? Was there anything you ever held sacred. I loved her, she was the mother of my son and you just had to have her did you not? I trusted you all these years, told you my deepest secrets, loved you like a brother and this is what I get, being played the fool?"

"Illya it was a mistake, it happened in the heat of the moment, we both thought the other had been killed. We...we both regretted it instantly and knew what we'd done was wrong. As for the proposal? I thought you were dying because of what Smythe had done to you, she, Elllie told me she was carrying your child. I offered to marry her to give your child a father, if in name only."

Napoleon let out a long sigh. " I won't lie to you, I did have feelings for her at one time, but those are gone. I only feel deep friendship and respect for her...it's you I love, you're more a brother to me than Hannibal* ever was."

"Right, a brother...so you screwed my woman, a real brotherly move?"

"Illya I can't apologize enough." Napoleon ran his fingers though his neatly coiffed hair, causing a dark strand fall to his forehead. "Elliott and I swore we'd never tell you of our mistake. I don't understand why she let it out to you? We both wanted to spare you the pain of our stupidity. You never deserved this."

"Apparently Elliott feels I do, as she told me that you are more of a man than I am."

"I'm so sorry, please, she's yours you know that?"

"What, a cast off, a scrap from the table of the great Napoleon Solo thrown to his mongrel Russian dog?"

"Please? It wasn't...isn't like that and you know it?"

"Quit your prostrating, it will do you no good." The Russian covered his eyes with his hand as he realized his entire world was crashing down around him, his head was reeling from it and being drunk was not helping matters.

"I am going to request a new partner Napoleon." Illya said coldly,"Stay away from me and my wife, that is if I still have one?" Then he staggered out into the corridor, heading towards the elevator. There was no one in it when the door opened quietly, and he stepping inside holding himself up unsteadily with one hand against the wall. He exited to the nexr floor, entering one of the guest quarters where he promptly passed out on the bed.

.

*ref "The Mind Control Affair" ** ref "The Archangel Affair" * Hannibal is Napoleon's younger brother


	10. Chapter 10

Napoleon Solo felt as low as he possibly ever had in his adult life; his foolishness, and lack of control had finally caught up with him and now his actions threatened to destroy not only his partnership, his friendship but possibly Illya's marriage to Elliott.

He would be damned if he was going to let any of that happen, but in his heart of hearts he knew that it was out of his hands. He sat there alone for a long time, remaining in the office trying to come up with a strategy to salvage everything. "Strategy was what he was good at wasn't he?" First and foremost, had to convince Illya that he still had his undying loyalty and friendship and then prove that Elliott loved him and only him.

He never got to tell the Russian that Elliott had turned down the marriage proposal instantly, and as to their indiscretion; that would forever be etched in his mind as a one of the stupidest mistakes he had made in his entire life. Napoleon saw no way to eradicate that at all and would just have to hope that he could regain Illya's trust. That he knew was going to take one huge feat of magic to make happen.

Elliott was always Illya's and would be forever, well he hoped she would still be; not knowing her state of mind and still wondering why the hell she had to tell her husband now, doing it in such a hurtful way.

"She couldn't have really meant those things she said to Illya could she?" he asked himself silently.

Napoleon knew he had to try to talk to him one more time, at least let him know about Ellie. He had to re-affim his promise to him perhaps more so, that he would find Demya ...he owed at least that much to Illya and to Elliott as well. But he realized now was not the time; the wounds and the pain were too fresh and Illya was too drunk.

Yet he had to manage this conversation before Illya put in for his change in partnership; the the Old Man would want a reasonable explanation for it.

Waverly wouldn't break up his number one team just because Illya was requesting it. And he doubted that Illya would tell the real reason behind his demand, as the man was too proud and private still to do that. Even if he cited that they could no longer work together; Waverly would tell him to tough it out and get over it...that he knew he could rely on the boss to do.

Unless Illya told him the truth, which he doubted; then the wily Russian would have to do some spectacular song and dance routine to convince Waverly. That, Napoleon suddenly smiled to himself, was highly unlikely; the Russian as clever as he was, wouldn't be able to put one over on the Old Man as he wasn't born yesterday.

He had to get to Illya to make him see the error in judgement he was about to make. "Hell, error in judgement? Who was he kidding?" Napoleon thought," it was more like getting Illya to flat out forgive him. How was he going to do that?"

He rubbed his forehead as he was now feeling the beginnings of one powerful headache as his thoughts darted back and forth between what he thought were successful ideas and conclusions; giving him feelings of hope, and then realizing that some of them were just sheer idiocy, causing him to sink into feelings of despondency.

"Let's face it Solo, you fucked up royally this time?"

He hoped that for once his supposed Solo luck would hold out for him at least one more time to salvage what he could.

.

Illya Kuryakin woke up hours later face down on the bed in guest quarters; the quilt damp with his own drool. His head was pounding and his mouth felt as though it had been invaded by some sort of swamp creature..

"Last time you keep a fucking cheap brand of vodka in your desk. Durák," he thought, calling himself and idiot.

He raised himself up slowly, regretting it instantly as his head protested the slightest movement. At least he didn't feel the need to be sick, no self-respecting Russian would get sick from vodka, even shit vodka at that.

The alcohol was still coursing through his system as he staggered to the bathroom; turning on the cold water faucet full blast in the shower. He pulled off his shoes then then his jacket and tie, then not having the will to go farther, he mumbled " What the hell."

Illya stepped under the water still dressed in the remainder of his clothes, letting it run over his head, soaking him to the skin.

"Chyort voz'mí_ dammit!" he said, releasing his anger as he slammed his hand against the shower wall. "Chyortov durák_fucking fool." How could he have been so blind? How did he miss it? His Elliott and Napoleon?"

Illya lowered himself to the shower floor, just sitting there. Feeling more numb now than anything. His son was missing, his wife slept with his best friend and she basically told him he was worthless. He no longer had a partner, though he wasn't done with Napoleon yet. There would be a reckoning to be had.

"NO, not just yet." he said out loud as he redirected his anger. Demya had to be the focus of attention and nothing more. That had to remain first and foremost in his mind. He supposed now there would be more than one score to settle after Smythe had been dealt with?

For the next few days Solo and Kuryakin were avoiding each other like the plague and everyone at headquarters could see it. It wasn't the first time the partners had been angry with one another, and given the circumstances with Illya's son, no one seem to want to try to find out what the rift between the two was about.

Even Waverly seemed unconcerned about it as he became aware of the tension between his two agents. He chalked it up to the frustrations of the unsolved disappearance of young Demya. The two men were not assigned to working together in the field as Kuryakin was still mandated to work at headquarters, so for the moment Alexander Waverly saw no need to address their latent hostility; these things had a way of working themselves out as they had in the past.

Solo and Kuryakin though friends were also at times rivals and both had competitive natures, and for that reason there were bound to be times of friction between the two men. He had seen that happen many times over the years and saw no need to mention it. Solo was out in the field searching for Kuryakin's son, and Kuryakin felt resentment, it was as simple as that. This was Waverly's take on it.

It was a situation that called for a measure of restraint, as he knew the young Russian well enough; he was generally prone to look before he leaped and that would be just the thing to get the younger Kuryakin killed. He also knew that it was tearing at his agent not to be in the midst of the fray, searching for his son, but at the moment, keeping Kuryakin reigned in was safest course of action to take.

Though Waverly realized he could only keep Illya Kuryakin out of the mix for so long before his fatherly instincts got to him and then of course there was the unpredictability of Elliott Kuryakin to contend with.

Her pregnancy and emotional state at least kept her at a distance for the moment, but even that could only prevent her from becoming involved for so long. To keep a mother lioness from finding and protecting a lost cub would be a hard thing to stop once she had finally made up mind to do something about it. Elliott Kuryakin was generally not one to be made to sit on the sidelines.

Alexander Waverly was aware that he had two ticking time-bombs waiting to go off, and only hoped that Solo would come through; finding the boy before those explosions occurred.

A reasonable amount of time had passed since the altercation with his partner as Napoleon flicked the intercom switch as he sat again in their office that he still shared with Illya, though now he hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Russian in days.

"Security here."

"Yes can you tell me if Mr. Kuryakin is still in the building?"

There was a slight pause. "Yes Mr. Solo, he's currently in guest quarters, room number three."

"And how long has Mr. Kuryakin been staying in guest quarters?"

"Five days sir."

"Thank you," he said, turning off the intercom, thinking that news was not good. Illya wasn't going home to Elliott and Napoleon had to do something about that. He went up to guest quarters to at least to try to talk to Illya. It was time.

He knocked on the door, using their code to let the Russian know it was him, when there was no response; he tried the knob, finding it unlocked.

He opened the door slowly, peeking his head inside. Illya was laying on the bed, dressed in rumpled clothes that he look like he'd worn for a few days. The smell of alcohol and body odor filled them room and Napoleon crinkled his nose in disgust; not that this was the first time he'd encountered the Russian not quite smelling like a bed of roses.

"Illya?" he said walking over to him. His eyes were half open, and now Solo could smell that he was still reeking of booze."Ah Christ, what the hell are you doing to yourself?"

He grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him from the bed, as he was being completely unresponsive, dragging his ass into the bathroom."Come on Stinky, let's go, into the shower with you!"

Napoleon turned the shower on full blast, shoving Illya under the water until the man began to sputter, struggling half heartily to bring himself to some sort of awareness.

"Leave me the fuck alone," he muttered," have you not done enough to me already?" he then hicupped.

"You need to snap out of this tovarisch?"

"Told you not to call me that." Illya mumbled.

"I don't give a shit what you told me. You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and go home to your wife...Illya, Elliott loves you, she always has and right now she needs you. Hell you both need each other, you should to be together in this. You've got a baby girl on the way who'll need her father. Do you want Demmy to come back to a broken home, where there shouldn't be one?

Illya pulled free of Napoleon's grip. "And who's fault is that?"

"Look this is not the time for a blame game, you and I will talk that out once we get your son home alright? In the mean time you need to go to Elliott. Illya she _needs_ you."

"She does not want me and she blames me for this. She told me it was my fault for not killing Smythe and thinks I do not care. Does that sound like she needs or wants me? I am worthless to her, thanks to you."

"Illya that's a crock of shit and you know it. Now you need to get yourself cleaned up, go home and prove otherwise to her. You still love her don't you?"

"Yes I do."

"Then you get your lily-white Russian ass home and let her know that. She doesn't love me and she never did. I didn't get to tell you that when I proposed to her, thinking that your weren't going to live, that she laughed at me, turned me down flat out. She thanked me for being chivalrous, but not for one second did she even consider it. She was yours then and still is."

He looked at Napoleon with his bloodshot eyes, seeing the sincerity in the man's face. "Illya, I fucked up and I'm sorry. but don't let my mistake cause you to make an even bigger one. You need to find your balls and let Elliott know you're not going to give up on her or your marriage."

"We'll get Demmy from that sick bastard and you'll have your family back. That is the most important thing of all, you being together as a family. Everything you've been though, all the pain and suffering that you've felt this past year never kept you from loving her, even when you thought you had to give up being with her because of what that nut-case Terry Tramell did to you?"*

"She thought you didn't want her and she lashed out at you for it. And now she's doing it again, she's stressed, her hormones are raging and she's beating on the one person she loves more than anyone, except maybe for your son. Hey there's that old saying...you only hurt the ones you love?"

Napoleon reached out, putting his hand on Illya's shoulder. "Look, if you don't ever forgive me, I'll understand but don't not forgive her. She still loves you. I know it. Go to her, go home. Don't wait until it's too late? Please?"

He watched as Illya straightened himself up, his demeanor changing to one of confidence.

"Irregardless of my feelings towards you at the moment; when you are right Napoleon, you are right." Illya hesitated." Was any of it real between you and I after you and Elliott...?"

Solo winced at that, knowing Illya was still not forgiving him, but at least he was listening to him.

"I swear to you that I have always had your back and I always will. I've never stopped being your friend, granted I was a poor one, for what I did, but I..." Napoleon stopped himself, knowing he had said enough."look, I'll get a change of clothes from your locker for you and have Tillie send up some nice strong black coffee and food. You get yourself cleaned and sobered up and then go home?Okay?"

Illya took a deep breath gathering himself; nodding silently as he watched his partner leave.

* ref. "The Enemy from Within Affair"


	11. Chapter 11

Illya sobered up quickly after he downed the strongest black coffee he'd ever tasted, that along with a full belly of carbohydrates and protein...spaghetti and meatballs on top of it helped him considerably. The food was of course made by Tillie and delicious. He wolfed it down they way he used to eat a meal when he had been a resident of the Soviet Union, there everything was eaten quickly, otherwise you didn't get any.

He showered and shaved then changed into the fresh clothing that had been sent up. Del Floria's must have pressed it as the creases were sharp. It felt good to be cleaned up.

Illya eyed the empty vodka bottle in the dust bin, deciding he'd had enough of that, as well as wallowing in his own self pity.

His mind was focused on going to see Elliott to straighten out his feelings for her, letting her know he still loved her and hoping she still loved him as Napoleon had said...Napoleon? The name still gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. They would still have to deal with each other, but Solo was right as that too would have to wait.

Illya arrived home via taxi as the sun was just beginning to set, starting up the outside stairs slowly, each step he took was exact and deliberate as he hardened himself to expect the worst, but still hoped for the best.

He walked into the house, following his usual security routines. It was deathly quiet as the only sound was that of his shoes on the hardwood floor as he walked down the hallway until he heard the muffled chime of the mantle clock coming from the living room.

It's steady ticking was the only sign of activity in the living room as he checked there for his wife. Illya continued to walk through the house; the absence of his son's laughter echoing loudly in the back of his mind.

He found Elliott upstairs in the nursery, sitting in the white wicker rocking chair, moving to and fro, swaying gently with her eyes closed. The last of the suns rays were shining down through the white Irish lace curtains illuminating the shine of her bright red hair, making him pause for a moment to take in that serene picture of the woman he loved.

She was so beautiful.

Forgiveness, he needed to remember it and reminded himself it was one word they had used a lot this past year. He would forgive Elliott her mistakes and hoped she would think on him kindly and not continue to blame him for their son's kidnapping.

"Annushka, lyubov' moy_my beloved. He whispered the words he always used to alert her of his presence when returning home.

She said nothing in response, making his heart sink just a little. He wanted to take her in his arms so badly and to be held by her as well.

"Where's my son?" she snarled at him as she opened her eyes, giving him a cold blue-grey stare.

Illya lowered his head, calming himself before he answered her.

"Elliott, he is _my_ son too...or have you forgotten that?" he said with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

She stood, raising her hand to slap him again but this time he grabbed her by the wrist, stopping her.

"You hit me once, you will _not_ do it again," he warned her with an icy tone.

He held her tightly, not allowing her to move. "How do you think I feel having you blame me for this? You knew when we decided to spend our lives together and what risks there would be? We both went into this with our eyes wide open, understanding and accepting the reality of our lives " he hesitated, _together."_ Annushka our past will always be lurking somewhere ready to haunting us from time to time, that we cannot control. It is not fair of you to blame me..."

Illya released his grasp on her wrist. "I do not understand what happened between you and Napoleon, but I am willing to try and to forgive. I love you Elliott Tatayana and I always will. Please say you still love me?"

He watched as tears began to roll down her cheeks, then she broke out into gasping sobs. Elliott reached out to her husband, placing her hands on his chest as her crying became more mournful.

Illya grabbed as her knees buckled, she collapsing to his grasp as he slowly lowered her to the floor; cradling her in his arms, rocking her as she continued to grieve.

"Shussh, please do not cry?" he whispered as he kissed her on the head.

"Illuysha, I'm so sorry," she whispered, " I've hurt ye and been so cruel to ye...I'm such a hag? I love ye, I really do, ye believe me don't ye? How can ye still love me after all the awful things I said to ye? And after what I did with yer best friend?"

"Annushka, I love you with all my heart." he said as he held her, stroking her long red hair." We will get through this, but we must do it together."

"Illya I'm so frightened. I've never felt anything like this before even on the worst of missions, it's almost overwhelming."

"Yes fear can do that." he said, knowing all to well what his fears had done to him in the past. "But our fears will not control us, we will control them," he said, remembering the consequences of his stay in the Solovki gulag and his subsequent recovery.*

She nodded to him quietly as he scooped her up in his strong arms, she wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her down the hall, laying her down on their big, soft bed. He helped her to undress, then stripped off his own clothing, laying down beside her.

Illya exhaled a long sigh, like a man who had just had the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. He was happy just to be able lay with Elliott in his arms; it was the first time they had been together in over a month.

He did not try to make love to her, being there and holding each other was enough. They were still passionate people, but no longer had that sense of urgency when it came to making love. Familiarity, comfort and security were sometimes enough and right now it was everything to them.

.

Napoleon Solo had landed via transatlantic flight to Heathrow Airport, having been sent on a courier mission by Waverly to deliver vital Thrush code changes; not a mere drop to be done by a section III agent.

The Old Man assigned it to give Solo a momentary respite from the search for Demya Kuryakin, as his number one agent seemed to be agitated and becoming nearly as obsessive as the boy's father in the search that had entered it's sixth week.

Except for the sighting in Albany N.Y. there had been nothing since then, no contacts, sightings for any chatter on the wires for that matter. Thrush was still trying to find out why they were interested in Smythe, and still hadn't connected a report on a missing child with their former operative.

Napoleon arrived at the London office located in a nondescript used books seller on Tavistock Street in the Covent Gardens section of Westminster. The simple three story brick building housed one of the busiest U.N.C.L.E. locations in the European arena, ranking second only to the Berlin headquarters in West Germany.

He nodded to the woman behind the sales counter as he made his way through the curtained doorway leading to a private reading room; the walls inside lined with shelving full off books on obscure subjects.

He reached for one entitled "The Life Cycle of the Cicada." Pulling the book, tilting it forward until the entire bookcase pivoted open to reveal the hidden world that existed behind it.

Solo walked into the reception area, being greeted immediately by a strawberry blond seated behind the security desk who was dressed in the standard blue blouse and black skirt worn by the female support staff.

"Welcome back Napoleon." She smiled, speaking with a slight Scottish inflection to her voice.

He couldn't for the life of him remember her name.

"Nice to see you too... Rosemary?"

"She glared at him for a second.

"Adrienne, Pauline?"

"Not even close."

"Wait, wait, " he said snapping his fingers, "Stephanie." He smiled at his success.

""Ew, very good and here I thought you'd forgotten me," she smiled coyly.

He turned on the Solo charm like he was flicking a light switch, touching his finger to her chin. "How could that happen with anyone as unforgettable as you?"

"Oh I bet you say that to all the lasses?"

"Only the prettiest ones."

Stephanie blushed, then shook herself back to reality. "Napoleon, Mr. Morton wants to see you in his office and asked for you to come up as soon as you arrived... hey maybe we can get together for a wee drink later?"She was practically purring at him now.

Napoleon crinkled his nose, winking at her."Ah _all my possessions for a moment of __time_, but alas fair maid, I'm...ugh, on assignment."

"Hmm, very nice Elizabeth I quote for a _no_." she smiled.

He headed along the familiar grey corridors to Brian Morton's office; he being the Continental Chief for U.N.C.L.E. Northwest, succeeding in the not so illustrious foot steps of the late Harry Beldon.

Beldon had gone over to Thrush and had been killed during his own plot to assassinate the other Continental Chiefs during the last Summit 5 connference. It was surmised after that incident that he was also involved in the previous Summit attack the year prior in New York, his own CEA Eric Lehrner having been the point man for the attack, was killed by Illya Kuryakin.**

But that incident had unexpected positive results; if Napoleon had not been wounded in the attack, then he never would have met Bella. Life had a strange way of working out on that one.

The door to Morton's office opened silently as Solo entered. The last time he'd been there was when Beldon was still the occupant, it was filled with garish Grecian statuary, art work and plant life.

The office was now simply decorated, the focal point being a large oak desk, contrasting against the sterile color of the walls and carpeting. The only thing that stood out with a splash of color was the obligatory portrait of Queen Elizabeth on the wall behind the desk and even though U.N.C.L.E. had no political affiliations, Brian was after all very British.

Morton stood to greet him as he walked in, offering his hand to him.

"It's been a long time hasn't it my friend? Please have a seat, may I get you some tea, coffee pehaps as I'm sure you are jet-lagged?"

"Coffee would be great Brian, thanks."

Even though Morton was technically Solo's superior, both men had a long history together and were on a first name basis. After all, Napoleon would be following in Waverly's footsteps as CCO of U.N.C.L.E. Northeast some day so in their minds they were more equals than anything.

Napoleon dropped the envelope with the codes on the desk as he seated himself in the high back leather chair in front of the desk. He had to admit, this office was a lot more comfortable than the one in New York and mused for a second about having such a chair when it came time for him to assume the reigns of leadership.

A secretary entered the room carrying a coffee service; dressed in the yellow blouse and black pencil skirt, version of the women's uniform in the communications section.

Napoleon immediately noticed the fit of her blouse accentuated the fullness of her bust, and he hid a slight smile as he studied it with great interest.

Illya had once said when he was caught admiring the bikini-clad derriere of _Senna Alegria_ during "The Island Affair," that _just because he was married, did not mean he was dead_." That sentiment held true for Napoleon as well.

The woman's special was holstered at the back of her waist, and though he was trying not to be too obvious, he admired the swaying of her hips as she sauntered past him.

"So old chap I hear that congratulations are in order on several fronts? You know that I speak from experience when I say that marriage to the right woman can truly be bliss. Just a shame that I had to retire from the field in order to to experience it, unlike you and Illya. Though as you recall by first choice of a bride turned out to be a Thrush agent. My wife Constance is a nurse at St. Mary's Hospital in Paddington, absolutely smashing woman and passed the U.N.C.L.E. vetting process with with flying colors.

The female agent cast a seductive smile in Napoleon's direction as she poured his coffee for him, then left in silence. He of course couldn't resist flashing her with his most charming smile in response.

"Hmm, my wife is a nurse too," Napoleon said," comes in handy for those recuperation periods."

"Yes quite," Brian agreed." Now Illya being married to a field operative is another story, there was a man I thought never would never take the plunge."

"You and me both." Napoleon chuckled, "His wife just retired from the field though, she's the chief of section III now in New York, deciding that it was the safer route to go since she's expecting their second child."

"I say, second child and now this tragedy with their son? Speaking of that" Brian said, "it's actually the reason that I wanted to meet with you. This situation with the boy's kidnapping is most distressing, but I have some news that may help."

"Oh really?" Napoleon said, " I'm all ears."

"One of our section III agents took these in Picadilly Circus yesterday." He handed a series of black and white photographs to Solo.

"The fair haired boy in them is without a doubt Demya Kuryakin, the man accompanying him, though dressed in a mack even with an upturned collar, dark glasses and wearing a fedora can only be Smythe attempting to cover that grotesque face of his. From the looks of the child, I would say that he's been drugged."

Brian shook his head in disgust. "To think I once worked with this man, and let him be near my own children. How he became so beastly, I'll never understand?"

"Greed does strange things to people, as does the wish for vengeance. We're pretty sure that's what this is all about, revenge against the Kuryakins for his disfigurement and for of course foiling all his plans to become rich."

Brian handed him another photograph, showing Smythe and the boy getting into a light colored Citroën DS, the registration tags were clearly visible.

"They are London plates, specifically the East End. We traced them to a building in the the Whitechapel area. I sent agents there to investigate, but it seemed to be abandoned, with no signs of occupancy, however some of the locals remembered seeing a man with a child fitting Demya's description in the area. Napoleon, " Brian smiled, " I think we may have the blighter."

"Brian that is the best news I've heard in a while. This is the most we've had to go on in weeks. We'll need to notify Illya immediately."

"Already took the liberty old chap, he and his wife are en route here via private U.N.C.L.E. jet and are due to arrive shortly. It seems Alexander is sparing no expense on this."

"He promised all of the organization's resources to find the boy, and he meant it." Napoleon allowed himself to sigh, hoping this was the final leg in getting the boy back alive and unharmed. He felt a nervous twinge at the thought of seeing Elliott and Illya together, but the fact that they were together was a good sign at least.

He would deal with the awkwardness of the situation when it arose and not worry about it until then.

.

* ref "The Enemy from Within Affair" ** ref "The Summit Affair"


	12. Chapter 12

An hour later a buzz came from the intercom in Morton's office, a feminine voice announcing the fact that Illya and Elliott Kuryakin had arrived at headquarters.

"Yes Stephanie, please send them right up? Thank you."

Napoleon felt the muscles of his stomach tighten; this would be the first time he'd see them together since all this mess started. He was sure nothing private would be brought to light in front of Brian, but the situation was going to be an uncomfortable one none the less.

They walked into the office side by side. Elliott nodding a silent greeting to Solo, her husband seemingly ignoring him. Morton was unaware of the rift between the two men, though he could sense a definite chill in the air the moment the couple walked in; he chalked it up to tension over their son having been kidnapped.

"Ah good to see you, but so sorry it's under such trying circumstances," Brian said shaking both their hands.

He glanced as Ellliott's pregnant belly, looking warily at Solo, offering a chair to her then immediately pouring her a cup of tea, which she graciously accepted.

She said nothing as she sipped from the delicate porcelain cup, listening in as Morton filled updated the situation, showing Illya some photographs. "These were taken in Picadilly Circus only yesterday."

Illya looked at them slowly then passed them reluctantly to his wife, obviously concerned that the images of their son would upset her. But she controlled herself, remaining quiet as she stared at the images, then gazed up into Illya's eyes for brief moment, the sadness evident in her own eyes.

She knew without question that the monster had her son drugged, as she could see Demmy's face appeared listless, lacking his usual vitality. She said nothing as she was sure Illya saw it too.

"Any other sightings besides this one?" The Russian asked showing no sign emotion.

"He was spotted alone early this morning in Trafalgar Square, unfortunately the agent lost him. We traced the license tags on the car to the East End and after making inquiries, the majority of reports from local witnesses and have him frequenting the Whitechapel section, specifically Dorset and the dark streets branching from it, Dunward, Hanbury, and Henriques Streets and Mitre Square."

"I'm organizing several teams to begin a house by house search in that section if need be. Both he and your son have been spotted frequently enough for us to assume that's where he's been staying."

"That seems rather strange, " Napoleon interjected, " he's been so careful hiding his where abouts only to now become careless? I'm wondering if he wants to be seen; perhaps this is some sort of trap?"

"Well we will not find out until we go there," Illya said coldly," I for one am not staying put as I have been complacent too long now and with my son being this close; I will tear the place apart piece by piece if necessary to find him."

Morton frowned, concerned that he needed to keep Illya under control. Alex Waverly had voiced that concern to him about both Kuryakins being involved in the hunt for Smythe and their son.

He didn't need either or both of them going off as loose cannons, now that they were this close to finding the boy. Yet as a father himself, Brian could understand their sense of urgency causing him to hope that he would never be in their situation some day with his own children.

"I don't think that will be needed as we have quite a few agents assembling now to conduct the search and they will be most thorough I assure you. In the mean time I've stationed a few agents in the target area, maintaining surveillance; that will give us a better handle on any further sightings.

"I'll be in on the search too," Elliott chimed in."

"Do you think that's wise, given your um..delicate condition?" Brian asked politely, "It is after all a very bad area."

"Teams of wild horses couldn't keep me away Mr. Morton and that's my final say on the matter, ye'll not convince me otherwise. I'm quite familiar with East End as I lived there for over three years."

Morton turned to Kuryakin for assistance.

"Do not look at me,"Illya smiled crookedly, "The she-wolf has made up her mind to go after her lost cub." Though he too was not comfortable with Elliott's decision.

Morton paused for a moment, feeling the awkwardness of the situation.

"Alright then, you can meet the teams down in the motor pool, a car will be waiting for you, say in an hour? In the meantime, please be my guests, go freshen up in our guest suites. Would you care for cook to anything sent up from the the kitchen?"

"Perhaps some soup?" Elliott answered, knowing she had promised Illya that she would make sure she ate. " I think I could stand to nip up for a bit of a kip. Illya?" She said reverting to British vernacular.

"No, I will be fine, you go eat then take your nap."

Illya offered her his hand, helping her to rise from the chair, then watched as she headed out of the office before returning his attention to Morton.

"I would like to see a map of the area where Smythe has been spotted if you do not mind?'

"Certainly," Brian pulled out from his desk draw having anticipated the need for them, unfolding it across his large desk.

Illya marked the locations on it with a pencil, then tilting his head that funny way that Napoleon recognized when the man was recalling facts from that photographic memory of his.

"Whitechapel, why is that name is ringing a bell with me?" Napoleon asked as he stood looking down at the map along with the others.

Brian pointed to a section, "The district runs from the edge of the city of London along the Whitechapel Road in the south moving to the heavily occupied Brick Lane in the north. Largely a working class area with predominately Bengali population there now, but it used to be Irish but there are also a fair amount of Cockneys living there as well."

"Cockney," Napoleon thought," Mark Slate would have been handy to have around for translation, but he unfortunately was in Rome with his partner, April Dancer.

"Yes, Elliott lived on Brick Lane when she was assigned here as an agent, the demagraphics have changed somewhat since then, however the area has not improved much," Illya said, "Whitechapel historically has been a rough area, notoriously famous for a string of eleven murders that took place there in the 19th century, among them were the five victims attributed to the killer Jack the Ripper."

Illya seemed nonplussed as he disseminated the details relating to each street where Smythe had been sighted." He moved his finger across the map pointing to each one. Napoleon realizing these were the facts that Illya had been recalling as he saw a connection.

"All these locations are where victims of the Ripper were discovered. Dunward Street where the first victim, Mary Nichols was found. Hanbury Street where the second victim Annie Chapman was murdered, Henriques Street formerly known as Berner was where they found Elizabeth Stride, Mitre Square, Catherine Eddowes and lastly on Dorset, Mary Kelly."

Those bits of trivia made Napoleon cringe, and wondered how it related to Smythe. "What the hell could he up to? What grisly message is he sending, if any?"

"Illya shook his head, shrugging his answer to Solo." Perhaps just to instill fear? Let us hope he is not planning to emulate the Ripper murders, starting with my son?

"Brian spoke up again. "Presently it's an area that's physically in bad shape, parts of it still suffering from the effects of the destruction of the blitz. Even the church that the area was named for did not survive the bombings. The housing is in disrepair, occupied by poor working-class people. The conditions there actually make for a perfect hideaway in which someone could disappear."

"Sounds like a great place?" Napoleon said, though it was the Ripper connection gave him an ominous feeling.

"We'll be concentrating the main part of our search along the section of Whitechapel that faces across to The Royal London Hospital...another historical locale made famous for nursing Joseph Merrick, _The Elephant Man_." Brian added just as a point of interest.

"The only thing of significance I am concerned about is finding my son alive." Illya said coldly.

"That goes with out question, old chap." said Morton. "If your son is indeed bait, then Smythe is doing a terrible job of laying his trap."

"Perhaps he's playing a cat and mouse game," Napoleon offered," he's tormenting Illya, keeping his son alive but away from him. We're not sure if he knows that Elliott survived the accident; if he does then this may be an attempt to strain and destroy your marriage, before he tries to destroy you?"

Illya nodded with a furrowed brow, but said nothing; admitting to himself that Smythe almost succeeded on one count.

.

Elliott lay down in the bed in guest quarters after she'd eaten a bowl of chicken soup that the kitchen had sent up, but in spite of the jet-lag was unable to fall asleep.

Every detail from that day at the shore had finally come back to her and it was playing over and over again in her head like a bad B- movie.

She remembered cleaning Demmy up from the mess he'd made of himself with the ice cream, then hearing his cranky tears as he offered him her own cone, there was the screech of tires from a speeding car.

Then look of horror on her son's face as she shoved him out of the way, and the pain she felt as she was struck. She remembered a woman's soothing voice telling her everything was going to be alright as she lay on the hot pavement as her head spun and she heard Demya's cries calling to her as his voice began to fade.

That look on Demmy's face, one of disbelief, it was the same look that Illya had when she was so cruel to him. How could she have been so terrible to him, he was a loving husband and wonderful father? Why did she blame him and have so much anger at that moment? There was no rational explanation. Raging hormones...she hated having them, but it couldn't be just that.

She'd been terrible to him on other occasions when not pregnant and she knew that she had to put that sort of behavior to rest once and for all.

He'd gone so far as to forgive her transgression with Napoleon, and that took a special man to do that. She hoped though that me might be willing to give that forgiveness to Solo as well, but wasn't too sure if Illya was quite that good hearted?

There would be a lot of making up to do on her part once this all was over. She had to believe they'd rescue Demya and would not let herself consider any other possibility. Her daughter suddenly made her presence known, giving a few kicks to remind her mother she was there.

"My little girl." she felt contentment for a brief moment, "now what are we going to call ye?" she mused," Anastasiya after Illya's cousin, or pehaps Katiya, his beloved sister's name, or perhaps Iolanta, her own mother's name? "No, they wouldn't due, maybe an Irish name would be nice instead, honoring the other half of her heritage. Aisling_a vision or Aiobheann, meaning beautiful in Gaelic, that might be nice?"

"Hmmm, Aoibheann Ilyichna." she smiled liking that one, laughing to herself, "everyone would think she too was a boy?" The name being pronounced a bit close to the English name Evan," she yawned, closing her eyes, finally drifting off to sleep.

Elliott opened her eyes again a short while later, wide awake when she heard the door opening quietly; her hand reaching automatically for her weapon under the pillow.

"Annushka, lyubov' moy, it is time, I have to go now." he whispered, hoping she might stay behind. He sat beside her on the bed, gently stroking her back.

"No Illya," she said, "_we_ have to go."

"You are nearly eight months pregnant, I say this with only deep concern, so do not take it the wrong way? I forbid you to go." he said with a firmness to his voice, hoping he was not asking for trouble by putting it that way.

"Don't tell me what ta do...please? Remember I'm the she-wolf, ye said so yerself?" Her grin was almost feral as she pointed a finger towards his face.

Illya surrendered to her wishes immediately rather than argue, but it was against his better judgement. "Alright volchitsa_she-wolf, then we need to go."

"Spacibo. I appreciate you not giving me a hard time Illuysha."

He only looked at her in response, trying not to telegraph his worry.

Illya lifted her up into his arms. "Annushka, let us make promises, no matter what happens; no more arguing, no more hurting each other?

Our lives are so strained as it is, let us be home together in peace?"

"I was thinking the same thing earlier. Ye are right, no more of this shouting and shrieking...and running away to the drink?" she looked into his eyes, then cuddled against his chest.

"Woman" he smirked, "you ask too much, a Russian give up his vodka?

After all I did give up smoking for you." he teased her, but was serious about his vodka.

"Alright fair play," she laughed softly," but definitely the rest. Agreed?

"Mmmm," he answered pulling her into a hungry kiss." Elliott you are my life, I would go to the ends of the earth to see you happy, and I suppose if your really want me to; I would forgo even my vodka."

"Illya Nickovich, ye are my beloved and I'm sorry at times I haven't remembered that, but no longer. I promise, and _no_," she laughed, " ye don't have to give up yer vodka. That's too sacred for a melancholy Russian soul, but the offer means a lot." She returned his kiss with equal fervor. "If we had time I'd make _love _to ye right now?"

"His eye brows raised, as he smiled. "And I would make _passionate_ love to you my beautiful Annushka, but there is no time. We will make love when we have brought him back safely, and we _will_ be bringing him back, that I am sure of."

"I feel it."

"From your mouth ta God's ears my love."

"Da." he agreed.

They met the team of agents and Solo in the underground parking area, located on the block behind headquarters, beneath an adjoining building over on Exeter Street. Napoleon rode in the lead car with three agents. Illya in the second with his team, Elliott in the third vehicle, then another car carrying half a dozen agents pulled in line to leave the building.

The four black sedans exited the garage after the steel door was raised, pulling out slowly onto the narrow city street, driving as a small convoy towards the infamous Whitechapel district.


	13. Chapter 13

Owen Smythe sat at a rickety wooden table in the basement of an abandoned tenement in Whitechapel. Demya Kuryakin was seated across from him, spooning porridge into his mouth from a small chipped Adams Ironstone bowl, it's glazed blue Brentwood design dull and faded.

The place stank of mould and mildew, and he was getting tired of his games with the boy. It was time to make an end of the charade so he had made himself visible, knowing U.N.C.L.E. had been looking for him, satisfied the trap had now been set.

His attempt to kill Elliott had failed. But he was feeling great satisfaction now knowing that he at least by taking the child he was tormenting the parents, in the long run having the boy as bait served a better purpose as soon it would all culminate in the deaths of Illya and Elliott Kuryakin.

He original plan was to murder them outright, but now had since come up with a more satisfactory solution to fit his designs, causing them as much anguish as possible before he did away with them. He would lure them into his trap and then strike, exacting his vengeance upon them without mercy.

One last torment to give them though before Illya Kuryakin and his bitch of a wife would die. He would mutilate their child in front of them, their last thoughts to be the knowledge that their child would spend the rest of his miserable life as a disfigured outcast as they had doomed him to be.

Then he would kill the Kuryakins just like the Ripper did his victims, slowly butchering them, making one watch as the other suffered in wait for their own fate. Elliott, she would be first. She was after all the source of all his problems when he worked for U.N.C.L.E. and Illya would watch as she screamed in agony as cut her to pieces before his eyes.

He envisioned eviscerating her the same way Jack the Ripper had done to his last victim Mary Kelly. She's been gutted, her breasts removed, her inner thighs cut away, then her abdomen... he suddenly reminded himself that Elliott was pregnant. This was now too perfect; he would cut the child from her in front of Kuryakin..." Oh the delight!" he thought,"then he would start in the insufferable Russian as he listened the death throes of his baby!"

Being here in Whitechapel the home of the greatest unsolved killing sprees in history was too deliciously ironic, Smythe thinking it was a brilliant inspiration to lure his victims here to their deaths. But he would be no anonymous Ripper, U.N.C.L.E. would know his continued vengeance when he would take out Alexander Waverly as well...maybe he wouldn't stop there? Perhaps that simp Morton would make a nice addition to his spree.

Smythe hugged himself joyfully at that scenario. "Yes, he could be the instrument of the destruction of The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement?" He couldn't wait for that moment of justice that he craved desperately and was nearly salivating at the thought of finally having his revenge against them all.

Owen Smythe had gone completely mad.

Demya scooped up the last of his gruel then stared at the scarred man with his wide blue puppy-like eyes, saying nothing.

"Don't give me that _Oliver Twist_ look, you're not getting any more do you hear me?"

"But I'm still hungry, sir."

"You are always hungry...well at least you've finally learned some manners. I suppose that in itself deserves a reward."

Smythe pulled out a Cadbury Flake bar from it's packaging, then dipped it in the doping solution he'd been using on the boy.

"Here have some sweets, chocolate your favorite, yummm?"

"Nooo." Demya refused the treat held out to him. "It tastes funny."

"There is nothing wrong with it, now take it or you'll make me angry. You remember the last time you made me _angry_?"

"I don't care, I want to go home? I want my papa and mama! I hate you, you ugly man!"

Smythe grabbed the boy by the arm, throttling him in his anger."Don't get shirty with me lad," he warned. "Look you can't go home, your...parents are away. I've told you this. They know you're a bad boy and probably don't want you anymore!"

"Demya began to cry, making the man angrier; he slapped the child across the face. "Shut up you, or I'll give you something to cry about you cheeky blighter you!"

Then the boy kicked him in the shin with his foot beneath the table, making Smythe howl at the unexpected pain.

"_Bloody hell_! You little rotter! You'll pay for that!" He gabbed Demya by his shirt, nearly pulling across the tabletop, slapping the boy several more times, not hard enough to cause damage but enough to frighten him into silence.

Demya's cries turned into whines then he stopped altogether, fearing being struck again. The boy had never been hit in his life and didn't know what to make of it, other than it terrified him.

Smythe shoved the candy at him again. "Now are you going to eat this or do I have to become angry again?"

Demmy took it from him, reluctantly biting into the flaky chocolate stick, then making a face as he he tasted it.

"Finish all it or else." Smythe threatened.

"Yes sir," he whimpered, taking several bites trying to swallow without tasting the bitter flavor that covered it. He was not liking chocolate any more...

Smythe locked the now sleeping child in the dark basement, checking himself in a mirror before he headed out to the street above.

.

The drive to the East End was uneventful but convoluted; the section II agent name Boswell at the wheel in the lead car with Solo beside him in the front passenger seat watching, trying to keep track of the street names with a conscious effort as Illya was always reminding him of getting them lost.

Strand, left on Aldwych then right on Aldwych then left back onto Strand, then Surrey Street, Temple Place, Victoria Embankment after that Napoleon simply lost track as there were just too many turns and one way streets to keep up with.

He finally resorted to checking the time on his wristwatch, keeping in mind the trip was to take around a half hour or so. He was anxious to get this started, but as much as he felt that way, he couldn't come close to imagining what the Kuryakins were experiencing. The thought of being this near and still yet so far to Demmy must be heart-wrenching.

They finally arrived at Brick Lane, parking near it's southern end close to where it was bisected by Whitechapel High Street; breaking off into pairs, but Illya insisted that Elliott travel with at least four agents, and for once she gave him no argument. He had no idea what Smythe was up to, and felt she needed to be better protected, given she had insisted upon coming along.

She was familiar with Brick Lane would start canvassing that area with her agents in tow, working their way northwards to Bethnel Green Road.

Napoleon would head over to Dunward Street and work his west along with his team. Two more agents would take visit Hadbury Street, two along Henriques Street, Illya and his agent were going to Commercial Street, not a Jack the Ripper sight but it was not far from Brick Lane and Duval, then they would work their way over to Gunthorpe where the type of housing was dark and run down enough that it might offer a haven where Smythe could disappear to safely.

The remaining agents were to check out Mitre Square and Duval Street, now the site of an open air market. Given those locations were commercial areas; it was doubted there were places that Smythe could have found to safely stash himself and the boy, but they still had to be checked just in case.

Smythe was making his presence known in these infamous and visible locations and was more than likely not hiding in any of them, his sightings there were like carrots that he was dangling in front of them as an enticement. But as to where he probably wanted to lure the U.N.C.L.E. agents, it was any one's best guess at this point.

Their only hopes were to either spot him themselves or to find witnesses who had seen where he'd gone, hopefully with the boy.

It was a long and frustrating day with no leads or sightings. And again, it was as if Smythe and Demya had disappeared from the face of the earth. There were no new leads or sighting.

Elliott was trying to remain calm, but feared it was another ruse on the part of the her former co-worker to torment she and Illya, making them think they were that close to rescuing their child. Perhaps he wasn't even here in East End and had traipsed off to a new location to lead them on another not so merry chase?

.

Illya approached the dark arch at the end of Gunthorpe Street, the area looking as if were still in the darkness of the 19th century, but they found nothing of help along this narrow street.

Exiting the passage way, to the right directly outside on Whitechapel High Street was The White Hart Pub, with it's blue and white lettered sign hanging above it's dark windows, illuminated by three brass light fixtures; illegible neon graffiti scribbled on one of the door posts.

The drinking establishment had been operating for nearly a hundred years and was surely witness to the comings and goings along old pathways, rusting bridges and waste ground strewn with weeds and litter. In front of it was an old gaffer sitting atop a weather worn barrel, looking as if he were a regular fixture there. Beside him was a chalkboard hawking pub grub within as it leaned against a large dustbin.

There were a pair of pensioners a few feet away playing rummy at a small table on the sidewalk; cockles and whelks being sold by a costermonger that was passing by with his cart.

"Peanuts, lovely peanuts!" called another street seller plying his trade.

This was East End in all it's dilapidated glory, the era's halted bombsite reconstructions and it's political graffiti evident along the corrugated metal fencing that lined parts of the road.

Illya pulled the photographs of Smythe and Demya from his breast pocket to show them to the old man sitting in front of the pub.

"Oi mate, wots wif you in yer pointed Italians and off down the High Street?" the old man said eyeing Illya in his black suit and tie, "You feeling like a king are you in your clean Dickey dirt, new peckham, pair of luminous almond rocks, new whistle, nice crease in your stride...well your barnet's not greased up but I'll wager you'll be flashing your hampsteads at all the bonnie palones!"

"Mr. Kuryakin, I'm British and I haven't a clue what he's on about," said the agent with him, "I don't speak Cockney."

"He's making note of how I am dressed and thinks I am going girl-hunting." Illya hid his smile. His accent suddenly changed as he addressed the bearded gaffer. " Mate, you seen this boy and this tosser lately?"

"Aye, I've seen them air and graces I have. He's a right ancient Greek that one, " he said pointing at Smythe as he continued to speak in Cockney rhyming.

"Where?"

"Maybe I could recall, but seeing how I'm skint, lend us an able? Ye see I'm on the Adrian mole and me money's not come frue yet? Fings has been a bit rough."

Illya pulled a tenner from his wallet, waving it like a flag in front of the man's face.

"That one, have a mind then, he's a bit Dad's army and a bit Damian." he said pointing at Smythe again," I tried chattin' him up a bit but that blokes a bit of a Darius. The wee one looks a bit barmy he does."

Illya was losing his patience at this point and started to put the bill back in his wallet. "Don't be brassing me off mate?"

"Hold on, hold on blimey, number 135 Whitechapel not five ticks up the road, take the oats and chaff round the back, and then down them apples and pears. So Bob's yer Uncle and Fannie's yer aunt then...sorted?"

"Sorted." Illya answered, handing him the ten pound note then gestured for his agent to follow him back through the the dismal arch leading to Gunthorpe.

"Ta," the old man said, tucking the money into the pocket of his tattered corduroy jacket. "Mind you mates that blokes wearin' a syrup!" the gaffer called after them.

Illya turned to the agent who looked completely lost as to the conversation that had just taken place.

"He has seen them, calling Smythe a crazy freak and perceives him as being dangerous, using a few crude names, and says he has disguised himself with a wig. He has observed him with my son going into the back of number 135 Whitechapel High Street. We need to take the foot path then the stairs down to possibly a basement. He also said that building is in rough shape."

"Good Lord Mr. Kuryakin, you understood all that?

Illya flashed him a somewhat annoyed look. "No Peter, I am making it up...of course I understood him. Now follow me."

The old man watched them disappear out of view back into the dark walkway, then pulled the latex masking and beard from his scarred face, he too disappearing quickly down the street.

.

Illya pulled his communicator pen from his pocket as the reached the end of the tunnel, staying there out of sight. "Channel F- Solo.

"What's up tov...Illya?"

"I have found a local who had tied Smythe to an abandoned building on Whitechapel High Street, number 135. Jones and I are heading there now."

"Illya don't do anything foolish if he's there? Wait for me."

The transmission was ended abruptly. "Kuryakin out."

"Of course he would not do anything foolish," Illya thought angrily," it was his son for God's sake? But if he had an opportunity to get Demya away from that maniac, then he would take it."

When the two agents returned to the sidewalk beside the pub, they noticed the old man was now gone as they headed southeast on High Street; Illya guessing the old punter was inside The White Hart buying the first of many pints of bitters with that ten pound note.

Napoleon did not like the way Illya ignored him, and contacted the other teams recalling them to Brick Lane, all arriving within twenty minutes. But he was now worried, as that was long enough time for Illya to get himself in trouble.

Elliott climbed into the car with Napoleon, shooing away the driver to one of the other vehicles.

"Ye drive Napoleon, I know where ta go, it's pretty direct from here."

There was an awkward silence in the car as they sat alone together.

Nap...Ellie" They both started to speak at the same time. "Go ahead," he said to her.

"I'm sorry, I really put my foot in it didn't I. All this pain that I've cause for ye, Napoleon can ye forgive me?"

"Of course," he smiled, "I can't be angry with you...I suppose it had to come out eventually. A very wise lady told me that dirty little secrets have a way of coming back to bite us on the butt."

Elliiott hesitated for a second."Bella knows, ye told her?"

"No I didn't tell her, she figured it out." he shrugged.

"And she's not ready to kill ye and me?"

"Nope, she was very understanding taking it into consideration that it happened long before she and I met? I guess that talk you gave her a while ago about our way of life as agents had quite and affect on her."

"Thank God fer that."

"Ellie things are okay between you and Illya right?"

"Yes they are, we're mending our fences so ta speak and made some promises to each other. Everything will be fine when we get our boy back. Illya said he had a feeling we would and I believe him, ya see he has a bit of the gift."

Napoleon looked at her strangely.

"Yes, he can sense things, he told me his Uncle Vanya had it and Vanya told him he did too...I guess it's best to describe it as a gypsy thing. Not fortune telling mind ye, but having the ability ta sense things."

"Well that does explain a few things that he's said and done over the years...look I need to know, why did you tell him about us?"

"That's a good question? I have a bad habit of being a bit of a shrew when I get angry..."

"No kidding."

"Napoleon, I'm trying ta answer yer question here?" Do ye mind?"

"Sorry, please continue." he smiled at her.

"As I said I have fallen into a pattern of bad behavior when Illya and I hit our rough spots and I let my temper get the better of me. I guess I still have a bit of that chip on my shoulder. I react too emotionally and I blamed Illya for not having killed Smythe when he had the chance and well...I just lashed out to hurt him because my boy was gone. I blurted it out about you and I really without thinking."

"I've made a promise to stop being like that, out of control that is and being spiteful... Illya's made his promises too. So some good is coming out all this shite, at least for us. But for you, well I only hope Illya will soften his feelings towards ye. That I'm so sorry for."

Elliott drove along familiar streets, still seeming as convoluted as their other trip to Solo. She took Brick Lane to Rhoda Street, then to Osborn and then a right onto Whitechapel Road. The drive should have taken all of twenty minutes, but then Elliott slammed on the breaks, avoiding a collision that had just taken place between a Hackney cab and a small lorry.

Elliott cursed, slamming her hand on the dash board as the road was now blocked and there was no way to turn around as traffic had already backed up with horns blaring from impatient drivers.

Napoleon pulled his communicator. "Channel F-Kuryakin," but received nothing in reply, sending his concerns for the Russian even deeper.

Nearly fifty minutes later, the cars pulled up at a corner nearest to the address that Illya had givne them, but there was no sign of the two men.

Elliott waited at the car with an agent to protect her while the rest of them searched the dilapidated building, but found no sign of Illya or agent Jones.

Elliott walked the perimeter of the building, following a foot path leading along the side to the back, and there she and her agent made a grisly discovery; the body of Peter Jones lying in a pool of blood with a bullet in his right temple.

Illya came bounding around the corner nearly running into his wife and the other agent, grabbing her at the last second as he pulled himself to a stop.

"Jay-sus Illya are ye alright!"

"I am fine, Smythe ambushed us. How we knew were here, I do not know." he answered out of breath." He shot Jones then I tussled with him but he got away. He put his hand to his head coming away with blood on it from where the man had hit him with a piece of brick. "Where is Napoleon?"

"Inside searching the building with the others."

"Do you have your communicator?"

She pulled it out, handing it to him. "Where' yours?"

"I slipped into Smythe's pocket, with the homing signal activated so we.."

"Can track him!" Elliott smiled finishing his sentence.


	14. Chapter 14

"Channel F-Solo."

"You okay Illya?"

"Yes, meet me in front of the building, he is not in there, he somehow knew we were going to be here? How he did, I do not know. " he paused for a moment," unfortunately we lost agent Agent Jones, Smythe killed him." Illya said without emotion. "I nearly had him but he got away, but I managed to slip my communicator into his pocket so we should be able to track him."

"I'll be right there, Solo out."

Napoleon held his communicator up, listening to the steady 'blip' that emanated from it, leading them back in the direction to the block where the cars had been parked, that was where the signal increased in it's intensity, indicating Illya's communicator was right there at number 121 on the corner of Whitechapel High Street and Old Castle Street.

The building was an abandoned three story structure with most of it's un-boarded windows smashed to bits, the walls at street level covered with posters and political graffiti, to it's left a trash filled alley, beside and running behind it down Old Castle were rows of red brick warehouses in equal if not a worse state of disrepair.

The members of the team were directed by Solo to fan out surrounding the building while he and Kuryakin would enter it.

Elliott and an agent would stay at the front of the building covering the exit.

As Illya headed towards the door, Napoleon walking a few feet behind him, suddenly felt a tug at his sleeve.

"Please bring them both back to me?" Elliott whispered to him.

He nodded his answer, then followed Illya through the entrance.

They crept along the hallway with their Walthers at the ready, following the signal as it became stronger. At first they looked to the stairs, but they barely one flight up had collapsed giving doubt that Smythe could have gone that way. They they headed down a long hall towards the back, as the signal seemed to be at it's stongest, taking them to a door with a faded sign indicating air raid shelter.

Napoleon grasped the doorknob holding his breath, as he turned it slowly, pulling on the door hoping the hinges wouldn't creak. It gave way in silence as he sighed in relief then gave Illya a quick wink, having pocketed the communicator, turning off the tracking signal lest the sound alert Smythe to their presence.

Together they descended the stairs, walking lightly on the balls of their feet, taking their time as they placed each step carefully hoping the aged stairs wouldn't give them away.

They reached a rusting metal door that was slightly ajar allowing a sliver of light to escape from within the next room. The two agents readied themselves; Illya raising his hand, using his fingers to count silently to three.

They burst through, only to find the room empty. Laying in the middle of a rickety wooden table was Illya's communicator. He picked it up, staring at it for a second then exploded into a string of Russian expletives.

"De'rmo! Chërtov svóloch_ shit! Fucking bastard, he knew!" He lashed out losing his composure, kicking the table and smashing it to pieces, then suddenly grabbed his calf. "Chyort_dammit! " he swore again,"Nu pizdec_oh fuuuck!" he yelped, placing weight on the leg.

"You alright?" Napoleon was accustomed to the Russian's periodic outbursts of language, but not at his losing his temper with violence, such things the man kept under control, but given all that had fallen in his lap; the loss of control wasn't really surprising.

"Of course I am not alright, I just pulled a muscle! Poékhali!" he snarled impatiently, wanting to leave; limping towards the door as he opened his communicator. "Channel F Elliott Kuryakin." There was a distinct difference in his voice, as if he had flicked a switch turning off his emotions as he addressed his wife.

"Did ye find him?" she answered anxiously.

"Played us...he found the communicator." Elliott said nothing in reply.

They both headed back up to the street, Illya limping over to his wife, taking her in his arms as they shared their disappointment. She could feel him shaking a bit, assuming it was from a rush of adrenaline.

"Why are ye limping?"

He was a little embarrassed. "I became angry, kicking at a table and pulled a muscle, it is nothing bad, I only need to walk it off. Just give me a minute?"

"Hey I'm the one who loses the temper in this family remember?" she said with a twinkle in her dark blue-grey eyes. Her comment brought that crooked little smile to his face for just a moment, then he limped off, heading toward the alley to be free of prying eyes.

Napoleon called off the operation as nothing was found by the other agents as they continued to report, then finally he contacted headquarters. He watched, waiting as Illya disappeared around the building, waiting until he was out of sight to approach Elliott.

"Where's he going?"

"He wants ta walk off the muscle pull ta loosen it up, just give him a few minutes will ye?"

He could hear the sadness in her voice. "We're that close Ellie...we'll find him," he said, wanting to give her a reassuring hug, but refraining himself.

"Ah but now the beast knows we're on ta him, who know where he's headed now?"

"I've had headquarters alert Scotland Yard, all the main transportation hubs will be on the lookout as photographs of Smythe and Demmy are being distributed as we speak. He's not going to get out of the country. It's just a matter of time before we find him again."

.

Illya limped along the trash filled alleyway not just to ease the injured muscle but to calm himself for Elliott's sake; remembering the promises they had made to each other.

They had both been so emotional and he did not want the anger that seethed within him to upset her any more than she already was. He had lost his temper and hurt himself as a result of it, and that was not a good example to set for her, particularly when he expected her to not to go ballistic.

He leaned against the building stretching, finally calm enough now to back to the car but as he turned, hobbling to the front of the alley he felt a sharp pain to the back of his head just before he lost consciousness.

Too many minutes had passed now to suit Elliott, giving her the impetus to the alleyway to check on her husband, but found no sign of him. She looked down, seeing his weapon and communicator lying on a trash heap. "NAPOLEON!" she called out in a panic. "Oh Jay-sus this can't be happening?" she muttered, jumping to the worst possible conclusion.

Solo was there in an instant, taking hold of her as she began to shake uncontrollably. He pulled her into his strong arms to help her gain control. "Ellie, I need you to focus, and calm down okay? What's wrong?'

"He's gone Napoelon, Illya... that monster has him too!" She said, showing him Illya's belongings then pulled herself free, shaking her head."I'll be alright."

"Look, he can't be far, he was only gone a few minutes." Napoleon grabbed his communicator, calling the rest of the team, updating them and having them fan out, then he contacted headquarters again.

"Morton here."

"Brian we need reinforcements here. Smythe has Illya as well now and he can't have gotten far. We're at the corner of Whitechapel High Street and Old Castle Street."

"Rough spot, righto, will have as many agents as I can muster out to your location via helicopter. Morton out."

He and Elliott continued to search the dead-end alley, finding no doors or windows that cold have been used.

"I don't understand...Illya went in the front but he and no one else came out. There has to be a logical explanation?" He said scratching his head.

Solo's communicator chirped. " Napoleon agents will be at your location in a few minutes. You can contact them on channel D, John Peale is heading the team. Good luck old chap. Out."

"Channel D- Peale, Solo here."

"Yes sir, our ETA is five minutes. Where do you want us?"

Napoleon suddenly realized he didn't know the area.

"I've got that."Elliott said taking his communicator. "Yes, this is Agent

Elliott Kuryakin here. How many of there are ye?"

"We have five Gazelles en route but we've managed to squeeze in a few more bodies, so with passengers and crew members we have 30 agents."

"Right then, proceed to Old Castle, then fan out. Set up a perimeter from there, on Pomell, Tyne and Wentworth Streets. We have ten agents to cover Ghoulston Street. Once in place have your people do a building by building search. And please be careful Mr. Peale, Smythe has my husband and child."

"Understood. Mrs. Kuryakin. Peale out."

Napoleon sent their agents to Ghoulston, beginning their search immediately.

.

Illya opened his eyes, finding himself on a damp musty floor; his arms bound behind him, laying bathed in the illumination of a single incandescent bulb dangling from a wire above him. He craned his neck trying to have a look around only to be greeted by a sharp pain in his head. He recognized the feeling of blood running down across his face

The last thing he remembered was turning to hobble up the alleyway back to the cars, then nothing after that.

He moaned, jerking his body in an attempt to loosen the bindings on his wrists and that was when he heard the voice of Owen Smythe speak to him from the darkness.

"Ah good, so you're finally awake."

"Where is my boy?" Illya growled at him.

Smythe stepped out of the shadows, giving him a kick in the ribs.

Illya responded with a small grunt, clenching his teeth; then repeated his question.

"He's here, nearby not to worry. The little brat is quite a handful, too much like his father and a temper like his bitch of a mother...speaking of her, how is dear Elliott? Has she been sufficiently distressed? Shame I didn't kill her that day with the car, guess I just wasn't going fast enough. And she pregnant...been busy the two of you haven't you hmmmm?"

"You know you are a dead man."

He threw his head back laughing out loud. "You're in no position to be threatening me."

"It was a promise." Illya said coldly," Free me and I will prove it to you."

Smythe kicked him again. "I am the only one who will be making promises here Kuryakin."

"Let me see my son." Illya said calmly, ignoring the pain in his side.

"Oh you want to see him? Fine I can do that." Smythe's voice oozed with a condescending tone. He disappeared away from the light for a moment.

Illya could hear a scuttling of feet as he strained to look in the direction from which the sound was coming from.

Smythe stepped into the light, his hand firmly grasped around around Demya's left arm.

"Papaaaa!" He screamed, pulling to free himself of his captor's grip.

"Get your hands off him!" Illya growled.

Smythe kicked him again, this time in the groin.

"Shut your mouth you pompous little man."

Demya cried, as he continued to call to his father, punching and pulling at Smythe's hand with his little fist in an effort to free himself.

"Stop that!" Smythe snapped at the boy "alright go to your papa." He released his grip, letting Demya run to his father.

Illya pulled himself up as his son came to him, the child trembling as he wrapped his arms around his father's neck.

"Shhusssh," he whispered to silence the boy's whimpering cry."Do not cry, papa is here. It will be alright " Then he spoke to him in Russian, trying to set a plan in motion.

"Demyachka, Mne zuzhno chtoby peretat' plakat' i slushat'."

"Da."

Kogda ya govoryu vam chtoby bezhati ty eto delaeshi. Vypolnit' i ne oglyadyvaites' nazad chto by ni sluchitas'. Mozhete li vy sdelat' eto."

"Da."

"Nikoda ne zabyvaite papa lyubit tebya?"

"Ya lyublyu tebya papa."

"What are you saying to him!" Smythe demanded.

"Can a father not comfort his frightened child? Is there something wrong with that?" Illya snarled back at him.

He waited as the minutes passed, watching for his opportunity to distract Smythe, praying that Demya would follow his instructions to run and not look back, no matter what. The last words he whispered to Demya were to tell him to never forget that he loved him, hoping they would not be his final words to his son.

His opening came when Smythe reached for a syringe, filling it from a small bottle then squirting some of the solution through the needle.

"What is that?" Illya asked, eyeing it warily.

"Something to keep you more compliant until your darling wife joins the party. Then the fun will begin...I'm going to gut her like a fish right in front of you just like Jack the Ripper did to his victims...those filthy little whores. Just like that wife of yours!" He laughed maniacally.

"I'll cut that new baby of yours out of her and you'll watch it die too. But not before I pour acid on your son's face...so you'll see him disfigured before you die and know that he'll live the rest of his life cursed to be a monster just as you and your bitch cursed me.

Illya's watched in disbelief while the man's demeanor became more macabre as he continued to revel in his gruesome plans. The man's obsession for revenge had driven him over the edge to lunacy.

Smythe walked towards him with the syringe ready, and as he bent down Illya lashed out with his leg, knocking it from his hand. He brought his upraised leg down against Smythe's body, sending the man to the floor.

"Vypolnit' syeichas! Begi Demya_ run now! Run Demya!"

The boy took off from his father's side running through the darkness towards the door, not looking back as his father had told him.

"Clever bastard?" Smythe screamed at Illya as he raised himself up from the floor. The Russian tried kicking at him again but the madman deftly dodged it, as he was still a trained agent.

He kicked Illya under the chin sending him back down to the floor, then dove past the stunned Russian; heading out the door after the boy.

Smythe grabbed after the boy as he tried climbing the stairs pulling him down by the back of the shirt. But Demya fell against him, knocking off balance, onto the floor. Then the boy scrambled beneath the stairs trying to escape Smythe's grasp.

There was a hole that looked like a small tunnel to the boy and he tried to crawl into it to escape. Owen reached in after the him; the boy's high pitched screams piercing the air as the hand came closer to him. Demya picked up a large shard of broken pottery, stabbing it into Smythe's hand.

"YOU fucking little bollacks! I'll kill you!" He howled, reaching in farther, grabbing the shrieking boy by the shirt with his bloody hand.

Illya heard it, the terror in his son's voice, then the curses from Smythe. It seemed like it went on forever, then he heard nothing as he lay helpless on the floor.

"Pity, now my plans have been all spoiled," Smythe announced as he walked back to Illya, holding up Demya's bloody shirt." well, such is the best laid plans, I won't be able douse him with acid after all? This is your fault you know, you told him to run didn't you?"

Illya's face paled as he fought back his pain...his son was dead, but he would give this animal no pleasure in seeing his suffering. He gritted his teeth again, as he repeated his promise.

"I am going to kill you."

His voice was calm, free of any emotion, that taking Smythe aback by the confidence in Kuryakin's tone. He'd always heard the Russian was a cold-hearted bastard, but to show no feelings, hearing that his son was dead..that annoyed him, giving him no satisfaction.

.

Napoleon stood beside Elliot and the other agent in front of buildeing 121, waiting and listening as the agents reported their findings as they continued to search the area, so far not finding a sign of their quarry.

"Dammit," he cursed." How could he have gotten away with Illya, unconscious or conscious at gun point, they could not have gone far, it was impossible?" He looked again at the abandoned building in front of them. It had been searched before Illya disappeared, but then he wondered...

"Elliott, I'm going back into the building to have another look-see. You stay here and continue to monitor the search progress alright?

"Sure...not much else I can do...OW!" she yelped.

"What's wrong, you alright?"

"Fine, my daughter just gave me one swift kick that's all."

He smiled at that, heading into the building alone, his thoughts for a brief moment on Bella and his babies, not due to be born for another month.

Once inside his gut instincts kicked in, making him head down to the basement again, where they had found the communicator. The upper floors were not accessible as the stairs had collapsed above the first floor, and there was no way to get up or down.

Napoleon opened the door leading down to the basement with his weapon drawn, creeping down the stairs, but this time there was a loud creak as he put his weight down on one of the old steps. He froze at first, not just because of the noise, but a concern that the stairs like the ones above were unstable and could give way.

He continued down, holding his breath they would not fall apart under his weight.

.

Owen Smythe lashed out at Illya in contempt for his lack of response to his torment; kicking him again and again, in the stomach, the ribs and then when Illya balled himself up he gave him several blows to the head until the Russian finally let out a moan.

Then he saw it, the Russian had tears running down his cheeks.

"Ah so you are human after all."

"And you are not," Illya gasped." you will pay for killing my son!"

Smythe's head suddenly tilted as his ears heard a loud creak coming outside near the stairwell. He moved quickly to the door, catching a glimpse of a pair of legs coming down the step; he cursed silently to himself, retreating back to Kuryakin. He quickly tied a gag around Illya's mouth then disappeared into the darkness, exiting through a secret door away from the Russian's view that lead up and outside to the alleyway above.

Napoleon peered around the rusting metal door, there on the floor was the body of Illya laying bathed in the light shining down from the ceiling. There was no one with him as he opened the door cautiously, stepping inside, going immediately to his partner's side.

"Hey I'm here, it's okay." he said pulling the gag away, still glancing over his shoulder.

Illya open his reddened eyes as Napoleon untied his hands helping him to sit up. Solo handed him his handkerchief to staunch the blood flowing from the gash in his head.

"He is dead." he whispered.

"Smythe?"

"No, my son." Illya let out a sob, then fighting back his tears, he held up Demya's bloody shirt showing it to Napoleon. " It is my fault, I told him to run, when I distracted Smythe, but I could not delay him long enough...a he went after him. "Illya sobbed loudly this time." I heard his screams as Smythe killed... I could do nothing to help my boy."

There was little Napoleon could do little to comfort him, simply his hand on the grieving Russian's shoulder, giving it a squeeze but Illya pulled free of it. He rose walking out of the room expecting to see his son's body laying in the next room but was shocked when he found nothing. "He is not here, what could Smythe have done with him?" Illya was dumbfounded.

"I'll find him, don't worry. I promise I will." Napoleon said. "Look Elliott is outside in front of the building, you need to go to her."

Illya's face went pale, a sudden look of panic filling eyes," Oh God... Elliott...Smythe!"

Napoleon's eyes met his and the two rushed up the stairs out to the street. He tossed his special to the Russian, pulling his backup pistol from it's ankle strap.

As the stepped outside they saw the body of the agent guarding Elliott lay sprawled in a puddle of blood on the sidewalk. Then they spotted her, gripped in the arms of Owen Smythe. holding a knife to her throat, the barrel of a pistol shoved against her belly.

"Let her go Smythe!" Illya yelled at him, instantly stepping toward forward with the Walther aimed at straight at him.

"Stop right there or she dies now!" Smythe screamed pressing the point of his butcher knife, piercing her skin; a trickle of blood dripping down her throat. "Put the gun down Kuryakin, you too Solo!"

"It's over Owen, don't do this, let her go." Napoleon yelled.

"Noooo! I will have my vengeance! Now put down your weapons or she dies here and now!"

Napoleon succumbed, bending down, placing his handgun on the sidewalk.

Illya limped forward another step.

"I said Stop!"

Kuryakin froze, beginning to lower himself slowly, preparing to put down the weapon when he saw Elliott mouth the words, _shoot him_.

She suddenly pulled at Smythe hand holding the knife, biting down hard on his wounded his hand. That was the distraction that Illya needed; he stood instantly, taking a quick step forward his arm outstretched as he moved, firing a single shot.

"Smert' dlya vas, vy tvoyú mat'_ die you son of a bitch!"

The bullet found his mark right between Owen Smythes' eyes, sending his head jerking back from the impact, but the man's finger was gripped tightly against the trigger of his gun, and it went off. The round hitting Elliott in the abdomen.

The two of them collapsed to the ground as Illya rushed forward, pulling the body of Owen Smythe away from his wife. She moaned as he lifted her up, seeing the growing blossom of red that was now beginning to spread across her pregnant belly.

"Illuysha, where's our boy" she mumbled weakly" ...good ye killed the bastard at last," then she closed her eyes.

"Annushka, hold on please," he whispered, then sobbed," do not leave me!" He picked her up in his arms, taking her immediately to one of the sedans, laying her down in the back seat.

Napoleon was ready to climb into the driver's seat.

"No, I will do this...Napoleon, find my son's body, please?" Illya slipped in behind the wheel, closing the car door, taking off at top speed towards The Royal London Hospital less than a half mile away; uttering a silent prayer asking God not to take his wife and and little girl too.

.


	15. Chapter 15

It took a scant few minutes for Illya to get to the front of the hospital, not caring that he had pulled to a screeching halt in a no parking area. He carried Elliott in through the front entrance shouting immediately that she had been shot. Nurses, and aides were there in an instant with a gurney, whisking her off quickly to emergency for a cursory examination.

Illya remainned with them out of the way, watching as they cut away Elliott's bloody clothing. One of the nurses tried to pull him out, but he flashed his ID card, warning her off with a frigid blue stare.

Moments later his wife was wheeled away; the doctor pulling him aside, telling him they were taking her for surgery.

"Your wife has lost a lot of blood and though I detect the baby's heart beat, it's rapid; the mother's trauma is obviously causing the fetus distress. I need to perform surgery to remove the bullet and do a c-section, other wise we could lose them. I'm not making any promises, but will do my best to save one if not both of them. Do you understand me? I need a decision on you part?"

Illya nodded silently. "One of them? You are telling me I have to choose between my wife and child? The grave look on the physician's face did not help his confidence, but at the moment he could not make that choice. He had to trust the doctor would do his best. "Save them both."

The physician sighed in exasperation, then simply nodded. "I'll try Mr. Kuryakin, I'll try."

One of the nurses commented that he was in need of a little medical attention himself, noting the wounds on his head; the front of his shirt was ripped open and bloody, making the cuts and dark bruises on his chest quite visible.

As usual he gave her his standard response, telling her he was fine and refusing the offered ministrations; seeking only to find out where the surgical waiting room was.

He took the elevator up to the third floor as directed, ignoring the stares from the other passengers as his dirty, disheveled and bloody appearance made them shrink away as he stood among them.

Forty five minutes later the surgeon emerged, heading straight to the Russian as he sat still looking a bit dazed, sitting alone in the waiting room.

"Mr. Kuryakin, looks like they're going to to be alright. Your wife was lucky as there was no damage to any of the major internal organs. The blood loss was manageable, as we gave her several units of blood, however at the moment she's in an induced coma but we'll bring her out of it within the next 24-48 hours. Congratulations by the way, you have a daughter...the baby was nicked in the arm by the bullet, but she's fine, a little small, but fine none the less.

Illya breathed a sigh of relief. " May I see them doctor?"

"Not right now, your wife needs to rest, and your daughter is the Neo-natal ICU unit since she is a month premature there are things that need to be done and unfortunately we can't have you in the way right now, as this time is critical for a preemie. Give it a little time."

"Doctor, I want to see them just for a moment?"

"And I'm telling you no Mr. Kuryakin, from the looks of you; you could use some medical treatment yourself but the head nurse has already informed me of your refusal. Right now you need to go home get cleaned up and get some rest. You can see them tomorrow as it's late.

"But..."

"No buts, sir, I'll not let you anywhere near them in your physical condition as you are quite dirty...can't have any more nasty germs around them, can we now?" I understand a Doctor Singh from your organization will be arriving here momentarily. I assure you, your family is in good hands. Now off with you before I have a security officer escort you out of the building, am I understood?"

Illya covered his face with filthy his hands, then running them up through his matted hair he nodded his agreement with the doctor.

He exited the hospital hailing a Hackney for himself, returning reluctantly to Tavistock Street; his appearance not shocking Stephanie one bit as he walked in through the entrance to headquarters. She'd seen her fair share of injured agents before.

"Mr. Kuryakin do you need medical assistance?"

"No...thank you I will be alright. I just need to go up to my quarters to get cleaned up."

She hesitated, having heard the bad news." I'm so sorry about your son, are you sure there is nothing I can do for you?"

"Thank you...no ugh, actually yes. Could you please notify me when Mr. Solo returns to headquarters." he answered softly, then disappeared down the corridor no waiting for Stephanie's response.

He walked with his head down, trying to avoid eye contact the staff still wandering the halls at this time of night as they passed him. Some of them knew him, but he did not want to engage them with their well-meaning condolences. He just wanted to get to the privacy of his room, to deal with his grief in solitude.

The neutral grey of the walls, the same as in New York seemed more somber than usual to him, but then the walls could have been a florescent orange pink with yellow polka dots for all he cared right now; there was only one thing that could make him feel better right now and that simply was never going to happen...

He locked the door behind him, going straight to the bathroom, turning on the shower, then stripping off his clothes; he stepped in under the steaming water. The heat soothing his aches, relaxing his sore muscles as he let it pour over him, remaining motionless for a few minutes. He finally used the soap and shampoo, cleaning off the dirt and blood; watching as the soap suds tinged with pink, swirled away down the drain.

He closed the faucets, reaching for the towel as he stepped out onto the tile floor; his body had been warmed but inside he was as frozen as the Siberian tundra.

The single suitcase that he and Elliott had brought with them still sat on one of the twin beds in the next room. But when he unzipped it open to retrieve some clean underwear, he found something very unexpected. Elliott must have tucked it there in hopes they would be bringing Demya home with them. It was their son's little plush Teddy Bear, the one Napoleon had given as a gift when the boy was born.

He lifted it up, holding it to his face, trying to detect his boy's scent on it. There were no tears this time, what was the point? Demya was gone, and he had nearly lost his wife and daughter. Such was his life, those he loved being taken away from him...well not the baby and Elliott, not yet. He wondered how long before he would eventually lose them or perhaps they would lose him?

"No, no more tears." He said out loud. He needed to take a step backwards if necessary, returning to the way he used to be, burying his emotions, compartmentalizing them, keeping them under mental lock and key. Perhaps it was time for him to live up to the old nick-name of _Ice Prince_ again. If he let his emotions control him as he had, then he would surely fail again, getting himself or others killed.

He would still love his wife and child, yes he would lavish all his emotions upon them, but no one else. To the rest of the world he would remain cold and guarded...he reminded himself of the words of his father and so many others had told him over the years,_ the less people know about you, the longer you live."_ It was time.

No would know of his love for his family; there would be nothing said about them to any one, and as far as the world would know...they no longer existed. His personal life would be guarded more than ever now and remain private, as he vowed to keep what was left of his family happy, peaceful and most of all safe.

The death of their son would be a terrible blow for Elliott to overcome, promises or no promises made by her. he expected her to be quite volatile about it; but he vowed to stay by her side no matter what happened.

He sighed thinking as he had that fateful day in the house, expecting the worst but hoping for the best, and now he was thinking it again. Elliott was strong, and would have to focus on their daughter; he needed to help her do that as it was all that mattered now. Demya was gone.

Illya squeezed his eyes shut this time, allowing one single tear to escape, then dismissed it with his hand.

.

Napoleon sent the rest of the team back to headquarters with his thanks. The search for the body of Demya Kuryakin would be his task and his task alone; it possibly being one of the worst mission he'd ever had to undertake in his life.

This was Illya and Elliott's baby boy but he too loved the child. It was different when he had to search for Illya when he'd gone missing and was presumed dead; death was one of the consequences they were trained to expect, though it was never wanted of course. But not this, no one had prepared them for the death of a child at the hands of an enemy.

He'd always vowed to find his partner, sensing he was alive when others had given up. But this time he had no such feeling, the boy was dead and now he had to find that sweet innocent child's body...he promised Illya he would. He promised.

Demya meant a great deal to him; the boy was the one who had influence him to want to be a father himself, feeling the gentleness the joy and love...and trust that emanated from the child.

Tears were running down his cheeks now, but at the same time there was an anger burning in his belly.

Their lives would always be filled with monsters from the past, though they were slain, new ones would appear. That thought made the fear for his own wife and babies grow and wondered how the hell Illya had dealt with that fear all these years, as surely it was always omnipresent like a sharpened sword hanging over his head.

Napoleon searched the basement again, with no sign of the boy, then wandering outside again, he walked the perimeter of the building without success. It was physically impossible for Smythe to have gotten far with the boy's body...he left the building then grabbed Elliott?

"Where the hell was Demya? It wouldn't have made sense for Smythe have taken the boy's body with him up to the street level, yet the boy wasn't in 121?" Napoleon groaned out loud, none of this crap made sense, it was just one big nightmare?

He wandered down Old Castle street; the warehouses being barred and boarded up tight made them a less likely spot. Then he wandered off to the side streets, Pomell and Tyne. They looked just like the others, sighing with age and decay. The dark red bricks that made up the skeletons of these worn building, appearing more ominous as the sun began to set, making him feel just a little more paranoid than usual.

This part of the East End of London that was not exactly homey and welcoming as he looked for the body of a dead child...he was losing the light and knew he would have to quit soon. The street lighting was nearly non-existent, and it was not the safest part of the district. Napoleon resigned himself that he would be forced to wait until sunrise to resume his grisly search.

There was a crash behind him then a skuttling noise coming from darkened arched tunnel leading to who knows where? East End was full of these passageways, throwbacks to another century. The perfect hide- away for those lying in wait to mug an unsuspecting passerby.

Napoleon held his breath as a rat the size of a small dog scrambled past him, but as he exhaled, there was the sound of metal and glass hitting the ground.

He drew his Walther, pulling the silencer from his jacket pocket, quickly screwing it onto the the cold steel barrel of his gun, walking cautiously towards the sound.

.

Illya had fallen into a dreamless sleep, one of pure exhaustion but was startled awake as the buzz of the intercom beside the bed woke him.

"Mr. Kuryakin, Mr. Solo has returned and is waiting for you in Mr. Morton's office for you."

"Thank you, I will be there shortly." He climbed from the bed, grabbing a pair of clean trousers and polo shirt he had draped over a chair, then dressed himself with a feeling of dread, suspecting that he might be going to view his son's body to identify if...that was if Napoleon found Demya? He looked at his watch, seeing that it was nearly one o'clock in the morning.

The door to Morton's office opened silently as Kuryakin stepped inside. Napoleon stood with his back to him, his shoulders slightly hunched, his body language suggesting that he had been successful in his quest.

"You find him, is that why you wanted to see me?" Illya asked apprehensively.

"Not me, " Napoleon said, turning around. " But I think someone else does." The little blond boy in his arms yawned, rubbing his eyes with his fists as he opened them.

"Pappaaaaa!" he squealed.

Illya stood with his mouth open for a minute, then dropped to his knees; his arms wide open as his son rushed into them. He held Demya tightly, rocking him, running his hands through his hair. He remained calm, letting his son simply feel the strength of his arms around him, then finally he could no longer contain himself and covered the boy's face and head with kisses.

Illya looked up at Solo, mouthing the words _thank you_, then scooped his son up in his arms, disappearing back up to guest quarters. The boy said nothing, only staring at his father with his big beautiful blue eyes, those eyes that Illya thought he would never see again.

Demya was filthy, so his father ran a warm bath for him, sitting the boy in the tub, washing him down with a cloth, singing soothing words to him in Russian as he examined him for injuries; except for a few minor scrapes and bruises, he seemed fine.

There were no clean clothes to dress him in, so after toweling the child dry; he put him in one of his own t-shirts, laying Demya in the bed, then laying down beside him.

He wrapped his arms around the boy, whispering to him. "You know you are safe now...the bad man is gone is gone for good. He will not be coming back."

"_Gone_?" Other than calling to his father, that was the first word the boy had spoken.

"Da moy syn. Papa took care of that...you know I am sorry that I could not find you for so long."

"But you did papa" Demya whispered.

He looked at the boy quizzically.

"You found me and told me to run and I did papa just like you told me to do and I didn't look back."

He smiled at the innocence of his son's logic, knowing he had nothing to do with finding him.

"Tell me what happened Demyachka...I heard you scream and papa was very frightened the bad man had hurt you?"

"He pulled me down and I crawled under the stairs and he tried to grab me and I cut his hand with some glass and he called me a funny name and...

"Demya slow down, it is alright," Illya smiled.

"Da papa, he pulled my shirt off me after I cut his hand then I crawled into the hole in the wall under the stairs and he couldn't reach me. And I crawled and crawled until I went outside and hid in the weeds for a long time and then I fell asleep, and when I woke up I walked out to the street and I didn't see any body so I walked more. But then I got scared and I hid and that was when Uncle Napoleon found me."

Illya felt unsettled at the mention of his partner...former partner's name, feeling torn over the past events and the fact that Napoleon had rescued Demya."

"Don't feel sad papa."

Illya looked into his boy's eyes. "You are so smart you know that? Spacibo Demachka, "Illya smiled at his sons uncanny ability to be empathetic. "Oh I have something... someone who will be very happy to see you again." Illya pulled the teddy bear from his suitcase on the floor, "Mr. Bear missed."

Demya smiled, hugging his favorite toy to his chest as his father began to rub his back softly, the same way he used to when he was just a baby.

He could feel the boy beginng to relax, but only after promising that he would stay beside him. Demya though physically unharmed, had been traumatized by his abduction, and rescue. He was sure that one of the psychiatrists would want to get his hands on the boy, but would be adamant about about his son being left alone.

A thorough physical examination was necessary though, on that would reveal the answer to a question that was gnawing at his heart; did Owen Smythe molest Demya?

"Demyachka, You know you do not have to be afraid any more do you?"

The boy shook his head as he lay wide-eye, snuggling next to his father.

Illya felt as though he had let Demya down; he did not keep a promise that he made to the boy a long time ago. "I am sorry that I did not find you, Papa tried, you know that?"

"But you did find me papa, and I did what you told me to do, I ran away, and then Uncle Napoleon found me too."

"Yes that is true, " Illya allowed a small smile to escape., "Then he asked a question that he was afraid to hear the answer to."

"Papa needs you to answer something very important for him, will you promise that you will not be afraid to tell me the truth? Pazhaluista, skazhite mnepravd_please tell me the truth? Did that man touch you in any way?''

"Yes papa he touched me a lot all the told me that I was a bad boy and that you and mama didn't want me anymore.

Kuryakin's heart felt a sharp pain at those words, but then thought he needed to rephrase his question with more clarity.

"Demachka, of course we want you...you are our son and we love you."

"Now answer me this last question, did the bad man touch you anyplace that made you feel strange or uncomfortable say, down in your...ugh, private places?"

"No papa. Why?"

"Just making sure you were not hurt that is all. But you are fine da?" He kissed the boy on the head.

"Papa where is mama?"

"She is in hospital...you have a new baby sister."And soon we will go to see them. Your mama will be very happy to see you, she missed you very much."

"Not a brother?' Demmy whispered. Illya could detect a little disappointment in his son's voice.

"No brother, a sister Demaya... a little girl. Remember you are the big brother and it is your duty to watch over your sister and take care of her? She is very small and not so strong as you."

"I will papa, I promise. I won't ever let any bad man hurt her."

"That is a good promise Demyachka and very courageous of you. You are my brave boy, you know that?" Illya tucked the blanket around him, brushing the hair from his eyes, in awe of how much the child had grown in the weeks that he was gone.

"Now the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner tomorrow will be here. Spokoyni nochi moy syn, papa lyubit' tebya_good night my son, papa loves you. Now close your eyes and think of something happy."

"You papa, I'm thinking of you. Ya tebya lyublyu_ I love you."

He stayed with the boy until he fell to sleep, having promised him that he would be safe and not to be frightened if he woke up and his father was not there...Illya had it in his mind to talk Napoleon Solo, deeming it was time to settle some things with him.

He walked down the hall in guest quarters to the room that Solo had been assigned, knocking on the door with his private code.

"Come on in."

Illya took a calming breath, then opened the door slowly.

Napoleon was lounging on the bed, with a clipboard on his lap, blank mission report forms scattered around as well as few crumpled ones on the floor beside him.

"I hope you do not expect me to be helping you with that?" Illya's voice had a chilling tone to it.

"No, tovar...ugh. I figured I better get used to doing them on my own?"

"Good call." Illya lowered his head. "I would like to thank you again for finding my son."

"I made a promise to you that I would and that was one I was not going to break...look about Elliott, is everything okay between you two?"

"Yes."

Illya was a man of few words, and now he was being a man of even less.

"And?" Napoleon asked.

"And what?"

"You and me? Where do we stand?"

"Good question." Illya stood looking at him, sucking on his teeth for a second.

"Illya now would be a better time for a few more words, or am I to take your lack of using them as not a good sign?" Napoleon could see the Russians jaw beginning to tighten, that alone speaking volumes to him.

"I understand," he said as he rose from the bed.

"No you do not." Illya said tersely, turning away from Napoleon, then suddenly swinging his fist around, connecting with Solo's face.

The unexpected blow took Napoleon completely off guard as his head snapped to the side, the fury of the punch sending him flying to the floor, landing right on his ass.

He sat stunned for a moment, holding his jaw with his hand, moving it back and forth to make sure it hadn't been broken.

"Feel better?" he asked, looking up as the Russian.

"Most definitely," Illya said as he offered his hand to his partner, helping him to his feet. "I believe trust and forgiveness are words we must revisit you and I."

That made Solo smile.

"But you realize that you are going to owe me a lot of free dinners for a very long time...partner." Illya finally smiled himself, but as quickly as that happened, it went away; his expression turning quite cold. "But I warn you, that I do not take kindly to betrayal and you are one of the few people in my life to which I will grant a reprieve. Please do not disappoint me as I promise you the consequences will be more severe and permanent next time?"

Solo knew that was no hollow threat as Illya had a ruthless side to him that he let few people see, Napoleon being one of them. Illya Kuryakin was man for keeping his promises.

Napoleon extended his hand to him." You have my word...tovarisch?"

"Da, tovarisch, " Illya answered as offered his hand to Napoleon, then found himself pulled into a bear hug.

"Thank you." Napoleon whispered, "I won't disappoint you."

Illya paused for a second, then returned Solo's embrace, but he did so with some trepidation.

They released each other from their grasp then stepped back.

"So this means you're not putting in a request to the Old Man for a new partner right?"

"I suppose so."

Typical vague answer as usual but he smiled at Illya giving him the full Solo treatment. "You still going to help me with my paperwork, from time to time?"

"Do not push your luck."

"Well I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask?"

"Always hedging Napoleon, do you not ever give it a rest?"

"I suppose not, guess that's just part of the package," he shrugged.

"I think some re-packaging is in order."

"Illya, you're going to milk this for all it's worth aren't you?"

"Absolutely."

.

The next morning Illya rose early, having called one of the secretaries to find some clothes for his son. Demya had to be presentable to go see his mother, hoping that she would be awake.

They left for the Royal London Hospital, a short fifteen minute trip, being taken by a driver in a Mercedes from the motor pool; father and son both scrubbed, cleanly dressed with their hair neatly combed.

Illya found himself concerned as Demya was clinging to him timidly as they passed through the corridors of the hospital, burying his head in the crook of his father's neck each time a nurse or doctor spoke to him. The boy's fear was understandable, considering what he had been through, but Illya hoped it would pass quickly.

Elliott was awake, but a little groggy when they walked hand in hand into the hospital room; Illya having lectured Demya not to be too excited or to upset his mama.

Elliott stared, then blinked a few times, hoping what she was seeing was not some sort of drug-induced hallucination.

"Oh God..." she moaned as Illya sat Demya on the bed beside her, realizing it wasn't a dream. Elliott wrapped her arms around him, sobbing quietly, then reached out her hand to her husband pulling him towards her.

Illya in turn embraced his wife and son, but would not permit himself to shed any tears. He left mother and son to be alone together, feeling comfortable enough since Morton had ordered a member of security to stand guard outside the hospital room as he headed off to meet his daughter for the first time.

The nurses outfitted him with a surgical gown and mask as he entered the Neo-natal intensive care unit, leading him to the incubator that held his daughter. The sight of her tiny form shocked him for a moment, as he reminded himself she was just a day over being a month premature.

The baby had quite a few leads and IV lines attached to her diminutive body; he could hear the steady beat of her heart on the monitor. It all made her look even more small and fragile.

Illya smiled, seeing her red hair but then for a brief moment he thought of his beloved little sister Katiya, forcing him to close his eyes, fighting back his tears. "Illie polmat' menya igrat so mnoi_Illie catch me, play with me." He heard the tiny voice of his sister calling to him from his memories...a voice he had not heard in a long time.

He pulled himself back to reality, looking over his daughter; she had a bandage on her left arm where the bullet had grazed her..."So young and completely innocent to have been touched by the hand of evil?" He thought as he sat beside the incubator, reaching in with his hand, touching her's. His heart melted as the diminutive hand wrapped firmly around the end of his finger, not letting go.

"Da moya doch', vy derzhite krepko_yes my daughter you hold on tight. Your papa is here now."

A black robed man stepped up beside him. " Hello my son," the surgical- masked priest greeted him. "I'm Father Charlie Rostov, one of the chaplains for the hospital. I understand your little daughter is a preemie and not quite out of danger, have you thought of having her baptized yet?"

"No father, that was not exactly on my mind at the moment. I am not Catholic, though my wife is."

"Perhaps it would be a wise thing to consider, just in case. I won't lecture you on our beliefs but..."

"No that is alright Father, yes please baptize her, my wife would want that."

Having been granted consent, the priest removed a green embroidered silk stole from his pocket, kissing it then placing it around his neck, as he began to pray in Latin, making the sign of the cross over the baby. Illya blessed himself the Orthodox way, keeping his prayers to himself.

The priest then took a small bottle of water from his breast pocket, "This is holy water from the shrine at Lourdes in France and is very special, as true believers know that it has the power to heal. I think your daughter needs the intercession of the blessed mother Mary to help her to survive? What is her name my son?"

Illya realized they had never decided on a name for their little girl, it was supposed to be up to Elliott, but the hell they had been through had driven all thoughts of that away..." Lourdes, father, name her Lourdes Mary Illyichna."

"Illyichna after you her father correct? I'm of Russian ancestry myself. Illya, It is derived from the biblical name Elijah. Yes this is a good strong name for such a tiny girl," he smiled."Yes very appropriate,"

He anointed the baby's head with oil, then said " I baptize thee Lourdes Mary Illyichna in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, placing three drops on the holy water on her head. He uttered a few more prayers then finally left Illya and his daughter alone.

The Russian looked down at her, smiling as she suddenly started to wiggle and squirm, guessing that what was she had been doing so much inside her mother. "Dobro pozhalovat' v mir Lurdes Mariya Illyichna Kurakin_ welcome to the world Lourdes Mary Illyichna Kuryakin."

Elliott met her daughter a few days later, when she was taken by wheel chair to the ICU unit. She was pleased with the name Illya had chosen for the baby, as well as the fact that he had the child baptized.

Lourdes Mary was lively just as her mother had predicted, and the doctors were pleased with her condition and progress, tiny though she was; she was a very strong infant.

Napoleon did not want to intrude on the privacy of the Kuryakins and left for New York without saying goodbye; though he and Illya seemed to have called a truce, he felt it to be an uneasy one; having sensed hesitation in Illya that night when the Russian had slugged him.

Three and a half weeks later the Kuryakin's left London with their two children via the private U.N.C.L.E. jet arranged for them by Alexander Waverly. Lourdes Mary was brought to Mt. Sinai hospital for overnight observation, as Dr. Schneider was concerned about the recycled air in the cabin of the jet having affected her lungs.

.

Napoleon Solo sat in the waiting room along with several other expectant fathers at Mt. Sinai hospital. Bella had gone into labor at six in the morning and he rushed her there, thinking it would happen soon. Now hours later he sat, still waiting the arrival of his twins, wondering what they would be. Both he and Bella had decided they wanted to be surprised. He chuckled a bit at the nervousness that surrounded him. But then as the time passed by, he found himself up and pacing back and forth just as much as the others.

One by one nurses would come in announcing the births, until he was the only one left in the waiting room and that began to make him feel concerned. He finally went to the nurses station, asking if everything was alright?

"Mr. Solo, everything is fine. Remember your wife is giving birth to twins and she's just taking a little longer to dilate," she smiled reassuringly. "Could I get you a cup of coffee?'

"You know," he smiled tiredly, " that's a good idea, thanks."

She handed him a white mug of the dark aromatic liquid, and the first sip he took from it re-energized him instantly.

A few minutes later Max Schneider emerged with a huge grin.

"Congratulations Napoleon mother and children are doing fine...

"And?"

"Oh sorry, girls. You have fraternal twin girls." Max extended his hand, grabbing Napoleon's in a congratulatory grip.

You can go see them in about fifteen minutes, then give us another half hour to get Bella up to her room okay."

"Oh...okay."

Max laughed at the blank look on Napoleon's face. "Did you hear me dad, you can go see your girls in about fifteen minutes. The nurse will show you how to get to the nursery."

"Yeah Max, I gotcha," he smiled, then reached into his pocket handing Schneider a fat Cuban cigar.

"Cuban...I thought there was an embargo against these?"

"I have my sources," he smiled.

Twenty minutes later Napoleon stood in front of the nursery viewing window. The nurses had brought the girls in their bassinets to the front of the line for him to see his tiny pink girls with their little pink caps on their heads, both wrapped tightly in soft white blankets.

"Hi there," he whispered giving the glass a little tap, "I'm your daddy."

"Hello _daddy,_" a familiar voice spoke from behind him.

"Tovarisch?" he smiled. There was Illya standing beside him with Demya cuddled in his arms. The last time he'd seen or spoken to him was over three weeks ago in England.

"Congratulations, your daughters are beautiful...thank goodness look like Bella."

Napoleon snickered at that little rub, " I hope so, they are girls after all?"

"What are their names?

"The one on the left is Apollonia Amelia Isabella, and her sister is Lucine Celeste Nicolette...you know who Nicolette is for don't you?"

Illya smiled shyly. " Thank you, I am flattered. Are you aware that in Russian Lucine is a nickname for Tatayana...you do know that is Elliott's middle name?"

"No I didn't know that...wow, makes it all the more special then doesn't it? And your little girl, how is she?"

"Doing well, Max had her brought here for observation because of the flight home...that is she in the crib to the left of your daughters, the one in the yellow blanket."

"And what did you name her?"

"Lourdes Mary Illyichna."

Napoleon was surprised at that." Where did that name come from, I would have expected something more Russian?"

"She was baptized by a priest at the hospital with holy water from the Marian shrine at Lourdes France...I thought it appropriate, and Elliott was please with it as well." he smiled.

Napoleon turned, looking at the tiny red-headed baby as she suddenly started her usual dance of feet kicking and wiggling. "My God, she looks just like her mother."

"Yes, and she is quite lively like her mama as well." lllya laughed.

"And you Demmy, how are you?" Napoleon asked, not wishing to ignore the boy.

Demya suddenly reached out his arms without saying a word, wanting to go to Napoleon, who took the boy, embracing him in a comforting hug.

"Hi Uncle Napoleon."

"Hiya wolf cub." he whispered to the boy.

"This is a good sign Napoleon; he has refused to go to anyone besides his mother and myself."

"Trust is important," Napoleon said, " I have to ask...do you really trust me tovarisch?

Illya smiled enigmatically. " I am trusting you with my son at this moment, am I not?. Let there be peace now...my friend."

Then I'll quote your countryman, Tolstoy," Napoleon smiled." Let us forgive each other -only then will we live in peace."

Illya looked through the viewing window at their innocent daughters, then again at Demya, looking very content as Napoleon held him.

Then I will reply,"Illya smiled, quoting Dostoevsky in Russian, "Dusha, buduchi istselen s det'mi_the soul is healed by being with children."

"Amen partner," Napoleon smiled.

FINIS


End file.
